


April Showers

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Best Friends, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Practice Kissing, Rain, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Tattoos, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Kasanoda snorts. 'Your tattoos aren’t a big deal,' he says, glancing sideways at Tetsuya’s covered arms. 'If they’re not scared off by my face they’re not going to be freaked out by a little ink.'" Tetsuya has been happy to be Kasanoda's best friend, even if he's always wanted something more; but when a pretty new employee starts working at his friend's flower shop, Tetsuya has to wage a war with his own broken heart to be the good friend he knows Kasanoda deserves.





	1. Outside Observer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dipuc (TomAyto10)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomAyto10/gifts).



Tetsuya always looks forward to the end of work.

He doesn’t dislike his job. It’s fun to work at the tattoo parlor, to chat with the wide array of customers and visitors alike who come in to get a simple piercing or discuss a tattoo design or just to look at the portfolios laid out on the front table. Tetsuya stays at the front, usually -- even with the tattoos running up his arms in place of sleeves, he has a gentle enough face to draw conversation out of even the most uncertain of visitors -- but he likes the conversation, likes pulling people into comfort even if they end up leaving without doing more than talking about their day. He thinks, sometimes, that he could be content working just about anywhere; but his own obvious tattoos make him a better fit for his current job than anywhere else, and he has no particular reason to be unhappy with his present situation. It’s comfortable, and it’s easy, and he leaves at the end of each day with a smile on his face.

If that smile only goes wider as he lifts his head and begins to move down the block, that’s just because of how much he’s looking forward to what comes after.

The flower shop is only a few blocks away from the tattoo parlor; walking fast Tetsuya can make it in a matter of minutes without straining himself, even if he gets caught at the light for the single street crossing between the two businesses as he does today. It’s not a big deal; he’s happy to wait out the delay in perfect contentment, his smile still lingering at his lips and his gaze fixed as far ahead as his thoughts, to the front of the shop he’ll shortly be stepping into. He can almost smell the perfume of the fresh flowers already, can almost feel the humidity of cut stems and soft petals hanging warm in the air against his face, and when the light changes he’s one of the first to step forward, leading the crowd that has collected behind him out into the street with the speed of his movement.

He doesn’t knock at the door as he approaches. The shop is open for another hour at least -- often two or three, on the busier days of the weekend -- and Tetsuya hardly needs an introduction. He pulls the weight of the door open easily, barely hearing the jingle of the bell set against the frame as he steps inside, and his smile is pulling wider at his lips as he offers, “Hey there” by way of greeting. “How’s it going, Kasanoda?”

The man standing behind the counter looks up at once. The saturated red of his hair brushes against his shoulders as he moves; it’s a little too long to stay tidy, and too short to adopt a ponytail like the one Tetsuya affects, but it’s not the color of his hair or even the style that makes the florist so striking. That would be due to the crease at his forehead and the weight of the frown at his mouth, the curve of it that drags his lips down into unconscious irritation and makes him look like he’s always on the verge of throwing a punch or shouting an insult. It’s a good thing he works at a flower shop, Tetsuya has always thought; if their roles were reversed, he thinks his own tattoo parlor would rapidly go out of business for the intimidation factor offered by the other’s face before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda says, his voice so low and gruff the other’s name comes out almost as a growl. “I thought you’d be coming by soon.” He pushes at the handful of loose greenery he has spread across the counter to clear some space for the other. “How was work?”

Tetsuya shrugs. “Fine.” He slides his bag off his shoulder to set in the corner, against the wall that is as good as its permanent resting place for how much time it spends there, and starts to unfasten the buttons holding his jacket closed against the chill of the wind that doesn’t touch the warmth of the air inside the shop. “Did you get any new customers today?”

Kasanoda lifts one shoulder into a shrug, as if in awkward imitation of Tetsuya’s own reaction. “A few. One guy is worried his girlfriend is going to leave him and wanted to get a real big bouquet put together for the end of the week. We’re going to have to special order a delivery to put everything he wants in it.”

“Sounds like an adventure,” Tetsuya allows. His jacket is undone down the front, enough to give him some measure of comfort with the humidity; he steps in to the counter and leans in to rest his elbow against the support. “Will you have to work late once the order comes in?”

“Probably,” Kasanoda allows. “It’ll be worth it to get him the flowers, though.”

Tetsuya smiles. “Especially if it saves his relationship, right?”

“Yeah.” Kasanoda glances sideways at Tetsuya’s arm bracing against the counter; the crease at his forehead deepens, his frown tightens into sincerity for a moment instead of its more natural relaxed state. When he moves it’s to reach out, to catch his fingertips at the weight of the fabric over the other’s arm and tug against it. “You don’t have to wear this in here, you know.” He lets his hand fall and turns his head to fix the leaves in front of him with the full force of the frown against his mouth. “You’ve got to be too warm with it on.”

Kasanoda isn’t looking up, so he doesn’t see the way Tetsuya’s smile spreads out across his face any more than he sees the warmth Tetsuya can feel softening his gaze on the other’s features. Kasanoda is still scowling at the greenery in front of him, is still bearing all the appearance of a thundercloud across his features that makes him look so terrifying to those who don’t know him; but Tetsuya _does_ know him, and he knows that this casual concern for someone else’s comfort is far more indicative of Kasanoda’s true self that the habitual downward slant of his mouth.

“It’s okay,” he says now, as he always says in answer to this offer. “I don’t want to scare off some sweet old lady who wants to come in to buy some flowers for her apartment.”

Kasanoda snorts. “Your tattoos aren’t a big deal,” he says, glancing sideways at Tetsuya’s covered arms again. “If they’re not scared off by my face they’re not going to be freaked out by a little ink.”

Tetsuya smiles, indulgent even in his disagreement. “Your face is fine.”

“Yeah, if I was the leader of a crime syndicate.” Kasanoda frowns hard at the leaves in front of him, reaching to tug against one of the stems with a force that speaks clearly to his present discomfort. “It’s no good in a flowershop like this.” He shakes his head, tossing his hair back from his face as he squares his shoulders and lifts his gaze to focus out the front window. “It’s alright, though. I’ll have the new person trained up soon and then they can take over at the front.”

Tetsuya blinks at this reminder. “You _did_ have them starting today, didn’t you?” He straightens from his lean over the counter, tipping his head to peer around the barrier of Kasanoda’s shoulders in an attempt to catch a glimpse of movement in the back room. “Where are they? How are they doing so far?”

Kasanoda clears his throat. “Ah. Yeah. They uh.” He coughs and lifts a hand to push his hair back from his face as he ducks his head forward again to glare attention at the leaves before him. “Yeah, they’re good.”

Tetsuya stares at Kasanoda, his mouth tugging on the beginning of amusement. He’s never see Kasanoda so discomfited, never seen him look so uncertain. It’s endearing to see the juxtaposition of those hunched shoulders with the stern lines of that face; Tetsuya has to bite his lip to hold back the bubble of affectionate laughter that threatens the back of his throat. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Kasanoda says without lifting his head. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

“You are _not_ fine,” Tetsuya says, reaching out to push against Kasanoda’s tipped-in shoulder for emphasis. “You look like you’re trying to sink right through the floor. What, is the new person scared of you or something? You don’t need to worry about that, you know, anyone who spends any time with you will know what a good guy you are.”

“Ah,” Kasanoda says. “No.” He’s still not looking at Tetsuya; it’s hard to tell from under the shadow of his hair, but Tetsuya thinks he might be seeing the beginnings of a flush coming in across the other’s cheeks.

Tetsuya can’t fight back the grin across his face, even when he lifts a hand to cover up the laugh in his throat with the transparent disguise of a cough. “Right,” he says, after he’s managed to ease some of the tension of amusement from his chest. “So when do I get to meet this new employee?”

“Kasanoda-san!” comes a voice from the back of the shop, the words clear and carrying to make it to the front, and Kasanoda jumps, visibly startled as he jerks his head up and twists to face the doorway to the back room. His hands press against the edge of his apron, his palms drag down over the cloth; he’s not looking at Tetsuya any more at all, so Tetsuya can’t see the details of the other’s expression, but the sudden strain across his shoulders speaks well enough to his rising panic. The voice continues, words coming louder as the speaker approaches. “Where do you keep the orchids? The inventory says we’re supposed to have at least three dozen but I can’t find them anywhere.” The speaker steps into view, their head bent over the clipboard in their hands; dark hair falls as a curtain to block their eyes, so all Tetsuya can see of them is the frown of consideration at their mouth.

“F-fujioka-san,” Kasanoda stammers. “Orchids?”

“Yeah,” the other says, and then they lift their head and see Tetsuya on the other side of the counter. They have dark eyes, a soft mouth, a delicate angle to their jaw; Tetsuya’s mind offers _pretty_ , in the instant recognition that comes with such features, and confusion alongside it, some mismatch between that face and his own expectations. His gaze drops down, skimming the plain lines of the other’s oversized apron in search of some way to resolve this uncertainty; and then he sees the edge of a skirt hemmed against bare knees, and the plain sandals that do nothing to hide the elegant line of feminine ankles, and _girl_ snaps into his head, an awareness fully-formed hitting like an epiphany.

“Oh,” the girl -- Fujioka -- says, blinking surprise at Tetsuya. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a customer.”

“A-ah,” Kasanoda says, managing to stutter even over the vowel. “He. This isn’t a customer.” He waves a hand vaguely in Tetsuya’s direction, his fingers sweeping out the other’s existence while the whole of his body is still turned towards Fujioka. “Uhm. This is Tetsuya.”

Tetsuya tries a smile. “Sendo Tetsuya,” he clarifies, since Kasanoda seems fundamentally incapable of any kind of coherent speech at the moment, and leans in over the counter to offer his hand to Fujioka. “I’m just Kasanoda’s delinquent friend who hangs around the shop after I get off work.”

“Oh,” Fujioka says, sounding far less alarmed by this than Tetsuya expected her to be. “Cool.” She tucks the clipboard under her arm and steps forward without any hesitation to take Tetsuya’s offered handshake. “Fujioka Haruhi. I’m the new employee. I’ll be seeing more of you, if you’re around often.” She makes a face and glances up at Kasanoda. “As long as I make it past probation.”

“Oh!” Kasanoda blurts. “Yeah. No. You’re good. I mean, you’re fine.” He’s stammering over his words, more incoherent than Tetsuya has ever known him to be; when Tetsuya looks up at the other Kasanoda has a hand pushing through the weight of his hair at the back of his neck, and his mouth curving on a smile that breaks itself against the stress of self-consciousness in his whole body, and his eyes wide and soft and melting as he gazes at Fujioka in front of him.

Tetsuya can feel his heart drop. His own smile dissolves, all the happiness in his expression giving way at once; but it doesn’t matter, there’s no one to see him, because Fujioka is smiling politely up at Kasanoda and Kasanoda is staring back at her as if he’s never seen anything else in all the world, as if he’s entirely forgotten Tetsuya’s existence on the other side of the counter. Tetsuya blinks hard and looks away from that glowing warmth all across Kasanoda’s features; but it’s not enough to look away, not when the sight of Kasanoda’s infatuation has just burned itself irrevocably into his awareness.

It’s good to know that Kasanoda looks as beautiful when he’s in love as Tetsuya always thought he would; it’s just hard to face the reality of being an observer of it instead of the object he always secretly hoped he might be.


	2. Sweet Nothings

Kasanoda is waiting outside the tattoo parlor when Tetsuya takes his lunch break.

This is another of their long-standing traditions: a shared lunch hour that they spend in each other’s company, either wandering through the nearby park or going in pursuit of a new ramen shop or just sitting on the bench in front of the tattoo parlor, on particularly warm days when the shade of the tree curving over it is necessary for comfort. Sometimes Tetsuya gets out first and makes his way to the flower shop to spend the break in the cool of the back room, surrounded by the brilliant shades of dozens of flowers arrayed all around him; sometimes, like today, Kasanoda beats him and is already in place when Tetsuya comes out. Tetsuya’s been thinking about lunch for the last fifteen minutes, has been considering suggesting an investigation of a new sandwich shop that he walks past on his way to work; but no sooner does he see Kasanoda, and Kasanoda’s fidgeting movement that hasn’t even let him sit down, before he knows that they’ll need to head for the park instead.

Tetsuya suspects he knows the cause of Kasanoda’s unfettered energy already. He can feel the awareness of it weight against the inside of his chest and press against the beat of his heart like a knot tightening around the rhythm; but he pushes it back, fights away the frown that wants to pull at his lips and slow his steps in favor of mustering the smile that is far more what Kasanoda deserves to have greeting him.

“Hey there,” Tetsuya says as he comes forward, tugging against the edges of his jacket to bring the open zipper into alignment with itself so he can pull it up over his chest. “Up for a walk today?”

“Definitely,” Kasanoda says, shifting from one foot to the other even as Tetsuya does up the zipper on his jacket. “Park alright?”

“Of course” and Tetsuya gets his jacket into place, and looks up to give Kasanoda another smile, this one more sincere than the first. Even with the weight of his own unhappiness in him, it’s impossible to not find at least some comfort from the company of his best friend. “Lead the way.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, and takes Tetsuya at his word, turning and setting off at such a rapid pace that Tetsuya nearly has to jog to catch up. Kasanoda’s gaze is fixed ahead of him, his mouth pulling hard on a frown to speak to his discomfort as much as the pace of his steps; the whole result is intimidating enough that the crowd parts before him, leaving a clear space for his own movement as well as Tetsuya following in his wake. Usually Tetsuya would see some flicker of stress at this on Kasanoda’s face, would have to step in to offer the distraction of conversation from the too-clear proof of the other’s effect on those around him; but today Kasanoda doesn’t even seem to see the crowd for how intently he’s staring out into the space in front of him.

Tetsuya waits to speak until they’re at the park. It’s too hard to keep up a conversation in the bustle on the sidewalk, especially with Kasanoda moving at the rate he is; better to cross the short distance in peace, to wait until they’ve made it to the wider, clearer paths that run through the park and he can jog forward to claim a position at Kasanoda’s elbow before he attempts conversation. He glances up, ready to wait if Kasanoda shows signs of speaking; but Kasanoda’s frown is as fixed as ever, his attention so clearly in the distance that Tetsuya thinks they’re likely to spend the whole hour in silence if he doesn’t say anything.

“So,” he offers, as gently as he can manage. It’s still enough to make Kasanoda jump at being brought back into the moment, but Tetsuya is steady, now, he’s waiting to offer the sympathetic comfort of a smile as fast as Kasanoda’s gaze lands on him. “Hard morning?”

“What?” Kasanoda shakes his head, the movement aggressive enough that his hair swings in front of his face for a moment. “No, the morning was good.”

“Something has you riled up,” Tetsuya observes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stressed you didn’t think about what you were going to eat for lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” Kasanoda says immediately, his response coming automatically; and then, as his expression clears into realization and his footsteps slow, “I didn’t ask you if you needed to grab something to eat.” His frown is softer, now, edged with self-deprecation as he grimaces at this realization. “Are you going to be alright?”

Tetsuya frees his hand from his pocket to wave aside this concern. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“Did you bring something with you today?” Kasanoda asks. Whatever stress he’s carrying on his own behalf has vanished from his expression, replaced entirely with creased-forehead worry for Tetsuya. “You still have hours left in your shift, aren’t you gonna be hungry?”

“I brought some snacks with me this morning,” Tetsuya says. “And I can run down to the convenience store in the afternoon if I have to. Really, I’m fine.” He huffs an exhale, feels a smile pulling sincerity against his lips. “I’m entirely at your disposal.”

The words are more true than Kasanoda realizes; Tetsuya can taste the honesty like clear water on the back of his tongue, like he’s giving voice to some measure of the strain clenching so tight in his chest. But of course they’re lost to the circumstances, and the most reaction Tetsuya gets is Kasanoda’s expression easing, and Kasanoda huffing an exhale of relief as he turns back towards the path.

“That’s good,” he says, restarting their forward movement with a somewhat slower pace than the breakneck acceleration he had initially. “I don’t want you to starve on my behalf.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tetsuya says again; and then, after clearing his throat as delicately as he can: “So, what _did_ happen this morning?”

“Oh,” Kasanoda says, and the sudden strain on his voice more than confirms Tetsuya’s suspicion even before the other’s face starts to flush into telltale color. “Uh.” He lifts a hand to push roughly at his hair. “It was Fujioka’s second day in the shop today.”

“Ah,” Tetsuya says, with as much neutrality on his tone as he can manage. It takes a conscious effort to keep his features smooth, to keep his expression friendly and open; but Kasanoda is looking down at his feet instead of at Tetsuya, so at least he has some time to compose himself before he prompts the other for more. “Did it not go well?”

“It went fine,” Kasanoda says, but his tone says he’s barely paying attention to the words as much as the frown at his mouth speaks to more to come. “She’s just so...so _nice_.”

Tetsuya swallows back the knot in the back of his throat, resists the urge to lift a hand to press against the tension in his chest. “She seemed very pleasant when I met her.”

“All the _time_ ,” Kasanoda says, as if he hasn’t even heard Tetsuya’s agreement. “She’s not scared of me at all, Tetsuya, it’s like she doesn’t even see the way I look. It’s like I look like you or something.” Tetsuya blinks, his attention scattered for a moment by this casual compliment, but Kasanoda is still talking, one hand ruffling through his hair and the other gesturing to underscore the force of his words. “She says hi in the morning and she’s always willing to help when I ask her to and she’s so _pretty_ , isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Tetsuya agrees, because Fujioka is objectively pretty enough for him to make the admission, even if it’s far more of an academic acknowledgment for him than for Kasanoda.

“She wore a dress today,” Kasanoda goes on. “I’ve never even noticed clothes before but it looks so _good_ , it makes her eyes look so big and dark and her smile is so nice and she’s so _friendly_ , even when I can’t figure out what to say to her.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She _is_ ,” Kasanoda groans. “Tetsuya, I think….I think I _like_ her.”

Tetsuya was expecting something like this. It’s not as if he hasn’t known how Kasanoda felt; the other’s emotion was clear across his expression that first day at the shop, telegraphed more clearly for Tetsuya to read than for anyone else. He’s _known_ this, this should be no great revelation; but it’s one thing to see it for himself and another for Kasanoda himself to acknowledge it overtly. Tetsuya supposes there must have been some foolish hope in him that he was wrong, that he had made a mistake in interpreting that expression on Kasanoda’s face; or at least that Kasanoda wouldn’t realize himself, that his feelings would go unnoticed and fade the faster for that. But of course Kasanoda realized -- he’s hardly an idiot -- and of course he wouldn’t hesitate to tell his best friend his epiphany. He can hardly know how sharply his words cut against Tetsuya’s psyche, can hardly be aware that Tetsuya feels them like a physical blow; it’s a testament to how well Tetsuya has managed to hide his own feelings that Kasanoda is so quick to come to him with this. He should be happy for it, should be glad for this proof that his efforts have paid off so well; maybe he will be, later. Right now all he can feel is the pressure weighting against his ribcage as if to crush the breath from his lungs, as if to twist the friendly support he ought to offer into bitter misery at his lips instead.

“That’s great,” Tetsuya manages, struggling for the words with what little breath he can spare from the effort required just to keep his lungs moving as they ought. “She seems like a wonderful person.”

“I think so too,” Kasanoda says; and then he turns his head, fixing his gaze on Tetsuya so suddenly the other doesn’t have a chance to compose his expression into calm. Kasanoda’s brows draw together, the corners of his mouth pull down; Tetsuya can see the blissful realization on the other’s face melt into concern, can see the shape of suspicion forming itself behind Kasanoda’s gaze.

“Oh no,” he says, his voice so weighted with alarm that Tetsuya can feel his whole body prickle with chill, as if Kasanoda has suddenly seen past the facade of platonic friendship he’s been maintaining for years at a single glance. He has the urge to lift a hand to his face to cover his expression; but that will hardly undo whatever Kasanoda has already seen, will hardly backtrack out of whatever sudden understanding the other has come to. “Tetsuya.” Kasanoda’s eyes are dark on Tetsuya’s face, his whole expression is weighted with concern; Tetsuya can’t look away from the focus in the other’s gaze, even with his spine prickling with the start of panic for whatever he’s about to say. “Are you...do you like Fujioka-san too?”

Tetsuya’s mouth drops open with the first shock of the question. It’s so close to what he was terrified of hearing, so almost exactly the words he was braced for; but the minor difference in the subject makes it completely wrong, makes answering it the easiest thing in the world. The first surprise pulls from his throat in a burst of laughter, amusement too sudden for him to even try to restrain; and then he’s lifting a hand to his mouth to hold back the edge of hysteria and looking away from Kasanoda as fast as he shakes his head through emphatic negation.

“ _No_ ,” he says with absolute sincerity on the word. “Not at all.” He realizes how that sounds as fast as Kasanoda blinks, is continuing on at once without waiting for the other to give voice to the sudden hesitance across his features. “Romantically, I mean. I like her just fine as a person. She seems really nice.” Kasanoda is still watching Tetsuya with concern in his eyes; Tetsuya reaches for a smile, trying to infuse it with as much sincerity as he can find. “I mean, she’s not scared of you. That’s enough for me.”

Kasanoda’s smile is enough to ease some of the tension in Tetsuya’s chest, even if it doesn’t undo the ache in his heart. “You really think she’s not scared of me?”

Tetsuya shakes his head. “Nope.” It’s easier to keep his smile in place if he looks ahead of himself; he turns his head to fix his gaze on the path in front of them, keeps his thoughts on how good it is to see Kasanoda happy, on how much Kasanoda _deserves_ to be happy. “She seemed completely comfortable with you when I met her. If she’s spending any time with you at all, I think it’s only a matter of time before she comes to see what a great guy you are.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” Kasanoda says, but he sounds pleased. When Tetsuya risks a glance sideways at him Kasanoda’s head is ducked down so he can smile at the toes of his shoes. His cheeks are colored to pink, his mouth is soft as if he’s carrying a secret against his lips; Tetsuya has never seen him look so tender. Tetsuya has never felt so distanced from him. “You really think I have a chance?”

Tetsuya swallows to unknot the tension in his throat, fights to level off the tremor that wants to drag at his voice. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s his turn to look away again, to stare unseeing at the path in front of them as he fights back the pain in his chest with a smile at his lips. “I don’t know how anyone who knows you could help falling in love with you.”


	3. Convincing Arguments

“I just can’t get a read on what she thinks of me,” Kasanoda sighs from where he’s leaning in over the table in Tetsuya’s living room. “She’s nice to me but she seems like she’s nice to _everyone_ , you know?”

“Mm,” Tetsuya hums. It’s easy to offer simple agreement when his back is turned so he can watch the pot of sauce he’s stirring over the stove, better when all he has to worry about modulating into platonic concern is his voice. Besides, this is becoming familiar, at the close of the second week of Kasanoda’s new romantic troubles; Tetsuya thinks by the end of the month the ache in his own chest will have scarred over enough to make his smiles feel as sincere as he hopes they look to Kasanoda’s gaze. “That’s still a good starting point, though. They say the best relationship are friends first and lovers second.”

“I don’t think I know how to make friends,” Kasanoda sighs. “You’re the only person who’s ever really stuck around.”

Tetsuya reaches to turn off the burner. “That’s because most people are idiots,” he says, certain enough in this declaration that he doesn’t have to fight for the appearance of sincerity. “They’re too quick to judge others and they miss out because of it.” The pot goes onto a cool burner at the back of the stove while Tetsuya reaches for the bowl of pasta he set aside a few minutes before. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, Fujioka-san included.”

Kasanoda sighs. “You only think that because you’re already my friend.”

“No,” Tetsuya tells him without turning around. “I think that because it’s true.” He pours the sauce over the pasta and sets the pot aside so he can reach for a spoon to mix the noodles in against the creamy addition. “And I am incidentally also your friend.”

There’s a snort from the living room, a laugh edged to roughness on sincerity. “ _Because_ it’s true?”

“Precisely.” Tetsuya serves the pasta out onto the two plates laid out on the counter, setting the bowl aside in the sink to be cleaned up later before collecting forks and the plates themselves to carry out to the living room. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, mustering the strength to sit up from the slouch he’s adopted over the table and reaching for the plates. “Thanks.” He sets both down in front of him, scooting to move himself sideways as Tetsuya sets the utensils down and goes back to turn off the light in the kitchen; by the time he’s returning to the living room Kasanoda is leaning in over the plate on his side and has left enough space alongside him for Tetsuya to take his own seat. The table is small -- Tetsuya lives alone, with never any more than one visitor at a time -- and in the past he’s been quietly pleased by the proximity the narrow space enforces on his own position and Kasanoda’s. This time he pauses for a moment in the doorway to the living room, hesitating over the prospect of sitting so close to Kasanoda and wondering if he shouldn’t do something to extricate himself gracefully from the situation.

“This smells great,” Kasanoda declares over the pasta set in front of him; and then, as quickly as he looks up: “You ready to eat?” with so much casual assumption on the question that Tetsuya’s briefly-considered resistance melts away like dew before the sunrise.

“Sure,” Tetsuya says, and comes forward to fit himself in against the table next to Kasanoda. Kasanoda shuffles himself sideways by another inch, pressing in close against one side of the surface in a mostly-futile attempt to make room, but no sooner is Tetsuya settled than Kasanoda relaxes again, his whole body easing to weight against the other from the glancing contact of their shoulders all the way down to the close-pressed line of their legs.

“Thanks for cooking,” Kasanoda says as he reaches for his fork and sets in to his meal without waiting for Tetsuya next to him. “You always make the best dinners.” He pauses to take a bite, his pleasure in the meal clear across his face in the moments before he swallows and goes on speaking. “Way better than what I make.”

“Thank you,” Tetsuya allows, his smile at this compliment breaking free of his lips even as he ducks in over his own plate. “It’s good to know the practice is paying off.”

“Practice on me anytime,” Kasanoda tells him before diving in for another mouthful of food. “I love eating your cooking.”

Tetsuya can feel his face go warmer than it has any right to for what amounts to a simple compliment of his cooking skill. It’s hardly a confession of romantic love; from how intensely Kasanoda is leaning in over his plate, Tetsuya thinks he might be more likely to propose marriage to the meal itself than to the creator of it. And Tetsuya has a good measure of his own ability compared with true skill; he’s fairly sure he’s average when it comes to those with any kind of interest in cooking, and probably somewhat behind women their age who learned tricks from their mothers that Tetsuya has had to invent for himself over the years since he moved out into his own apartment. He suspects the beloved Fujioka herself could produce something at least as good as this, for example; but Fujioka’s not here right now, he tells himself firmly, and there’s no point in borrowing unhappiness for himself. Kasanoda isn’t talking about his crush, and Tetsuya has the pleasure of his best friend’s company for the rest of the night, and if there’s no sense of romance to the scene in Kasanoda’s mind, well, it’s not as if that’s any different than the way things have been for Tetsuya for the last several years. It’s enough to have Kasanoda here, to have the pleasure of his company and the unselfconscious warmth of his smile, and if Tetsuya wants more that’s his own burden to bear, it should hardly undo what happiness he can have from the friendship that he’s already lucked into.

“I might take you up on that,” he says by way of response, keeping his words as light and casual as he can make them as he looks away from the familiar lines of Kasanoda’s profile and down at his own food as a safer point of focus than the way Kasanoda’s thigh shifts against his own or the way the other’s arm skims the line of Tetsuya’s wrist with each movement he takes. “I hope you’re prepared for what you’re signing up for, you’ll never hear the end of my latest cooking experiments.”

“It’s fine,” Kasanoda says without looking up. “Even when they come out wrong they still taste good.” Tetsuya smiles at this blunt honesty, more charmed by Kasanoda’s sincerity than he would be by some handwaving attempt to dismiss his occasional failures as nonexistent, and when he takes another bite of his food his appreciation is unfeigned, his enjoyment of the moment effortless. It’s easy to settle into the situation, with the warmth of Kasanoda sitting next to him and the quiet companionship of sharing a meal together, and Tetsuya lets satisfaction spread out into him, lets himself relish the pleasure of the moment instead of thinking too hard about the possible changes of the future or the impossible fantasies of his imagination. The pasta _is_ good, Kasanoda was right about that; and it’s nice just to have someone to eat with, just to have the comfort of companionship over the evening meal, quite aside from the adrenaline-fast rush of Tetsuya’s breathing that inevitably comes with Kasanoda’s presence. It’s easy to be happy, easy to be content with this; and then Kasanoda takes a breath, and speaks into the calm of the silence.

“Thanks,” he says, the word so rough on his voice that it pulls Tetsuya’s attention up immediately before he has the least idea as to what Kasanoda is speaking about. Kasanoda isn’t looking at him; he’s frowning down at his plate, idly sweeping his fork through the pasta in front of him like he’s entirely forgotten what he’s doing, or like he needs some way to express the tension creasing so clearly across his forehead. Tetsuya opens his mouth to ask what Kasanoda’s talking about; but the other is still speaking, continuing on without waiting for a response. “For putting up with me, I mean.” He huffs a laugh down at his plate, his cheeks flushing with the same self-deprecation that makes his exhale so rough in his throat. “I’ve been a real pain recently, I bet.”

Tetsuya blinks. “You haven’t been,” he says, still at something of a loss. “I like spending time with you. I always do.”

“All I’ve been talking about is myself,” Kasanoda says, still frowning at the movement of his fork. “It can’t be a lot of fun to spend all your time listening to my troubles.” He shakes his head as if to clear it before letting his fork go still and lifting his head to fix Tetsuya with the full force of his attention. “Thanks for being such a good friend.”

Tetsuya wants to protest this. It doesn’t seem right to accept Kasanoda’s thanks for what the other believes to be a platonic, selfless gesture, not when Tetsuya’s blood is humming warm in his veins just from the weight of Kasanoda’s leg against his, not when he’s noticing the shift of Kasanoda’s lips on his speech as much as the creased-forehead sincerity of the other’s words. It feels wrong, like a lie of omission, like he’s taking credit for being someone he isn’t and has never been; but he can hardly open his mouth and confess here. Kasanoda needs a friend, and if it’s romance he wants the subject of it is certainly not Tetsuya; there’s nothing at all to be gained by sudden honesty, except to weigh Kasanoda down with the same guilty self-awareness that Tetsuya has borne himself ever since the advent of the newest employee at the flower shop. It’s not fair to Kasanoda, to deprive him of the comfort of a willing ear just for the sake of easing the heartbreak Tetsuya always knew was inevitable; so Tetsuya blinks, and finds a smile from the endless supply he has for Kasanoda, and hopes that the tension running through his body goes unnoticed by the other.

“Of course,” he says, wanting to look away and resisting the urge in favor of holding Kasanoda’s too-close gaze, of offering the most sincere affection he can find in his expression. “I’m always happy to be there for you when you need me.”

Kasanoda huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’s what you always say” as he looks back down to his plate and retrieves his fork. “I guess I’ll just have to owe you until you have someone you want to talk about nonstop.”

Tetsuya can feel a chill run down the length of his spine, as if Kasanoda has unwittingly set off an electrical charge to prickle uncomfortably under his skin. His face heats, his smile slips; he has to duck his head and fix his eyes on his own meal, wishing desperately that he had left his hair down so he could let it fall before his face and give himself a moment to collect his composure back around himself. “That’s right,” he says, struggling for offhand ease and not at all sure he succeeds. “You’ll regret giving me the upper hand someday, I’ll take full advantage of that debt.”

Kasanoda laughs. “Sure,” he says. “I think I can take it.” He’s smiling when Tetsuya looks sideways at him, his whole expression easy and relaxed without any indication of the uncomfortable suspicion Tetsuya had been afraid to see there; it’s something of a relief, just to know that Tetsuya has managed to dodge yet another dangerous line of conversation without arousing any sense in Kasanoda that something is wrong. He tells himself that as he looks back to his food, tells himself very firmly that he’s glad Kasanoda can remain oblivious to his feelings, that it’s better this way for the both of them; and maybe someday he’ll be able to move on, maybe he really _will_ find someone he can ramble about to Kasanoda as the friend he is meant to be instead of pressing his lips tight over the affection he doesn’t dare set free of his throat.

Tetsuya wishes he were as good at convincing himself as he is at convincing Kasanoda.


	4. Guilty Pleasure

Kasanoda stays the night in Tetsuya’s bed.

This is hardly an uncommon occurrence. Cooking dinner always takes an hour or more, if Tetsuya is really doing justice to the process; and after the meal there’s always a movie to be put on, or a bottle of sake to be shared, or some other reason to while away the hours until it’s easier just to offer a place to stay than to send Kasanoda home for the few hours of sleep left to him before work. Tetsuya takes the floor in the living room; his bed isn’t terribly narrow, all things considered, but even his practiced self-denial can hardly resist the temptation of Kasanoda actually in bed with him with his limbs tangled in Tetsuya’s sheets and his hair falling crimson over the pillow. Tetsuya sleeps for a few hours, restless and uncomfortable as much from the thought of the other room as from his position on the floor, and in the end he’s awake and making toast well before Kasanoda stirs out of bed at the beep of his phone’s alarm clock.

“Morning,” Kasanoda manages as he gets the bedroom door open and comes into the kitchen. His eyes are shadowed with the lingering effects of sleep, his hair is tangled; he’s running his fingers through it in an attempt to work the knots free with careless force that makes Tetsuya flinch. “Can I have some of that before I go?”

“I made it for you,” Tetsuya tells him, flipping a fresh slice onto the plate in front of him and turning to offer it to Kasanoda. “I’m off work today, I can take as long as I like with breakfast.”

“Oh,” Kasanoda says. It takes him a moment to accept the plate, and another before he processes what he’s meant to do with it enough to reach for a slice of bread and bring it to his mouth. “Cool.”

“I’m sorry I kept you up so late,” Tetsuya offers. He thinks he probably got less sleep than Kasanoda overall, but with the advantage of an hour to bring himself to wakefulness he’s far more alert than his friend just at the moment. “What time do you have to be at the shop?”

Kasanoda makes an uncertain noise around the mouthful of toast he’s just managed and turns his head to squint at the clock on the wall. “Uh.” He swallows and lifts his wrist to wipe at the jam at the corner of his mouth. “Twenty minutes.”

Tetsuya grimaces. “ _Really_ sorry.”

Kasanoda waves with the slice of toast still in his hand. “‘S fine,” he says, and finishes the piece in one go. “I wouldn’t have eaten at all if I went home.” He takes the second slice and offers the plate back to Tetsuya before heading towards the door so he can work his shoes onto his feet. “You’re back at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Tetsuya stays where he is in the kitchen, the plate caught in his hands and his attention caught at the shift of Kasanoda’s hair at the back of his neck as he ducks in over the effort required to get his shoes on. “I’ll see you on my lunch break as usual.”

“Cool.” Kasanoda finishes his second slice of toast and straightens, kicking idly against the floor to settle his foot into his boot. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the food.”

“Sure,” Tetsuya says, and then, as Kasanoda is reaching for the door: “Do you want a brush for your hair?” aware even as he says it that the offer is a little belated to be of any use.

Kasanoda lifts a hand to push at the crimson falling to his shoulders and shrugs. “Nah, it’s fine.” He looks back over his shoulder at Tetsuya; for a moment his eyes are crinkling in a grin, his whole expression curving around the amusement at his lips. “I don’t need to get dressed up today or anything.”

Tetsuya is meant to laugh, and so Tetsuya does, huffing an exhale of understanding as he lets his mouth curve on the smile Kasanoda is clearly waiting for. “Fujioka-san isn’t working today, then?”

Kasanoda shakes his head. “Nope.” He turns back to the door, pulling the weight of it open to let the spill of early-morning sunlight into the living room; when he lifts his hand to wave it’s without turning. “See ya, Tetsuya.”

“Yeah,” Tetsuya says, his hands still tight at the edges of the plate in his grip. “Have a good day.” And the door swings shut behind Kasanoda, and he’s left alone in the quiet of his house with no company but himself to fill the space.

He doesn’t move for a long moment. He’s caught in the strange quiet of a familiar space left abruptly empty by a guest’s departure, as if without Kasanoda here to fill up the rest of the apartment Tetsuya has briefly forgotten how to exist comfortably in his own home; or maybe it’s just Kasanoda himself that leaves Tetsuya feeling so adrift without him, as if he can’t quite relax into the space that still carries the afterimage of the other’s presence within it. He just stares at the door for the span of breaths, his fingers working over the edges of the plate in his grip with unthinking intensity; and then he looks down, and realizes what he’s doing, and goes to set the plate in the sink.

He intends to tidy up. That’s been his plan all morning; it’s what he was thinking of when Kasanoda emerged from the bedroom. He had been planning to run the sink full of hot water over the mess of dirty dishes that went unwashed last night, and to lose the uncomfortable strain of insufficient sleep to the soothing ease of washing and rinsing dishes back to their usual pristine state; but when he looks to the sink he can’t find it in him to face the task, so he turns aside instead, stepping out of the narrow span of the kitchen and into the living room instead. That’s tidy enough -- his early-morning pass has seen to that already -- and Tetsuya only spares a glance for it before he continues on, towards the door left half-open by Kasanoda’s emergence, and towards the guilty possibilities that lie within.

The bedroom feels warmer than the rest of the house. There’s no logical reason for this; Tetsuya is fairly sure it’s his own imagination turning the air so radiant with proof of Kasanoda’s presence, his own fantasy that insists he can catch the faint, unfamiliar scent of the other’s clothes if he breathes in deeply enough. The sheets are still rumpled from Kasanoda getting up; Tetsuya long ago told the other to not worry about making the bed, offering some vague excuse about needing the reminder to wash the sheets anyway that was enough to convince Kasanoda, at least. So now he has this to look forward to whenever the other spends the night: the mattress creased with the remembered weight of Kasanoda’s body, and the sheets clinging to the smell of his skin, and the whole of Tetsuya’s bed marked over with the illusion of reality for so many of the fantasies he never lets free for proper voice.

He pushes the bedroom door shut. It’s a foolish step -- it’s not as if anyone is going to interrupt him in his own house -- but his conscience twinges whenever he indulges like this, and some part of him wants privacy even from his own life as much as possible, as if he can shut the door and keep the platonic friendship he has with Kasanoda from ever realizing what he does in the quiet dark of his bedroom. It hardly makes sense, if Tetsuya lets himself really think about it; but it is a comfort in any case, sensical or not, and he’s breathing a sigh of relief even before he steps forward to drop to his knees at the edge of the mattress and reach out to ghost his touch over the rumpled blankets.

It’s not that they hold to any of Kasanoda’s lingering body heat. It’s been too long for that, even in the few minutes it took Kasanoda to collect himself and stumble out the door on his way to work -- but Tetsuya’s focus lingers on every crease, at every curve of the blanket, fitting the shape of his tangled sheets to the thought of Kasanoda’s body in his mind until it’s as if he can see the ghost of the other’s existence in front of him, as if Kasanoda has left an imprint of himself over the hours he spent asleep here. Tetsuya’s heart is beating faster, his breathing is catching quick; and at his hips, against the soft weight of the sweatpants he used as pajamas, his cock is stirring, swelling with the first start of arousal as Tetsuya’s lashes flutter over the imagination of Kasanoda in his bed.

He lets himself slide forward as his fingers wander up to the soft of the pillow at the head of the bed; the blankets catch at his knees, the rumpled sheets press in hard against his stomach, but Tetsuya is only barely paying attention to the present moment anymore. His attention is drifting elsewhere, shaping out the beginnings of fantasy as his arm hooks around the pillow underneath him, as he presses his face in close against the give of it to breathe deep at the faint almost-familiarity of Kasanoda’s shampoo against the fabric. In reality he’s sprawling across his bed, his knees angled open so he can press himself down against the resistance of the sheets under him and bury his face in the give of his own pillow; but in his head he can see Kasanoda, can _feel_ Kasanoda, it’s as if the other never left the space at all. Kasanoda stirring under him, shifting to catch an arm around Tetsuya to steady him as his balance shifts and he nearly falls; Kasanoda laughing low, pleased surprise as Tetsuya’s hips shift to buck hard against him. Tetsuya can imagine the huff of Kasanoda’s breathing at his hair, can imagine the slide of the other’s hand down against his back, forming out a hesitant path towards his hips; and his breathing turns to a groan, muffled out of audibility against the pillow under him as his cock twitches hard against the sheets. He arches himself up for a moment, winning a few inches of space to fit his hand down against the straining flex of his stomach and inside the edge of his sweatpants; but he’s not thinking about the motion, he’s losing track of reality entirely for the force of the fantasy that is unreeling around him.

He can almost feel Kasanoda under him; the stability of his chest, the solid weight of his thighs. Tetsuya imagines Kasanoda huffing a breath, the sound indulgent and affectionate before he pushes himself sideways to work himself free of the weight of Tetsuya’s body over him. Kasanoda doesn’t pull away, in the space of Tetsuya’s mind; he just sits up, arranging himself over the bed with Tetsuya sprawling across the support of his lap. Tetsuya can’t help the way his hips buck down, the way his body arches forward to grind in against the grip of his hand, against the imagined resistance of Kasanoda’s thighs; the movement lets his shirt slide up against the curve of his spine, bares inches of his skin for the warmth of the air, and Tetsuya imagines the huff of appreciation Kasanoda would give, imagines the weight of fingers landing at his spine to trail down over his skin, to map the ridges of his back at the shift of his shoulderblades and against the curve at his waist and down, down, until Kasanoda’s fingertips catch at the elastic of his waistband. Kasanoda would hesitate, Tetsuya thinks dizzily, maybe would take a breath like he’s steadying himself; and then he’d fit his thumb under the fabric, and push, and urge Tetsuya’s sweatpants off his hips. Tetsuya works his hand free of his pants, reaching for the waistband instead so he can struggle himself half-free of the clothing; but the angle is wrong, his position is too distinct from the outline of the fantasy he’s looking for. He pushes up, bracing himself on hands and knees over the sheets for a moment while he pushes the pillow down the bed, towards his hips instead; he fits it just under his thighs, against the heat of his cock hanging heavy and full with heat between his legs. The friction fees good, as he lowers himself back against the support, the angle it gives to his hips better, and when Tetsuya shuts his eyes and presses his face back down to the mattress it’s easy to lose the structure of reality, easy to give himself over to the force of his imagination.

He can imagine the feel of Kasanoda’s hands on him. That is familiar, a part of his fantasy so well-worn he can call it up almost as clearly as if he has any personal memory to go on; Tetsuya has taken the casual press of Kasanoda’s leg against his at his table, and the occasional weight of Kasanoda’s arm around his shoulders or Kasanoda’s fingers touching his wrist, and has built them up into a perfect understanding of the way Kasanoda would touch him like this, the way his hands would slide over Tetsuya’s skin with the shivering almost-hesitance he always shows when he’s particularly appreciative. His fingers would trace the outline of the tattoo winding up Tetsuya’s spine, would wander down against the curve of the other’s thighs; and Tetsuya can feel himself shaking, can feel his whole body going taut with the urge to buck forward, with the desire to rock himself against the pillow under his hips that has become Kasanoda’s lap in his imagination. Kasanoda would touch his legs, his back, his waist, his hip; and finally his fingers would gain certainty enough to slip up against the curve of Tetsuya’s ass, and Tetsuya groans against the sheets at the imagined sensation, his hips jolting forward in the first surge of reaction. Kasanoda would hesitate, maybe, afraid of having hurt Tetsuya under him; or maybe he would be sure of himself, maybe he would chuckle a low rumble of sound in the back of his throat and press harder against Tetsuya’s body, would weight his palm against the soft give of the other’s skin and dig his fingers in close as if appreciating the heat of Tetsuya giving way to him.

Tetsuya is far gone to the fantasy, now. His hips are trembling against the pillow under him; his cock is dragging against the fabric with every forward motion he takes, the friction expanding to fill his veins with heat as fast as his breathing catches at the sheets under him. He has one hand fisted on the blankets over his head, his grip bracing himself in place against those helpless motions of his hips; the other is angled behind him, his own hand the best substitute he has for the idea of Kasanoda’s in his mind. Fingers work over his ass, slide back to wander towards the tight heat of his entrance; and Tetsuya touches against himself, and in his head Kasanoda’s fingers weight against him, and the noise he makes into the sheets is desperate, wanton pleading.

He needs lube for this. It’s an unfortunate delay; if Tetsuya could do without it he thinks he would, thinks he’d satisfy himself without the deep, achy satisfaction of pressure inside him. But he’s shaking with want for more, his whole body prickling with dissatisfaction just at the idea of being deprived, and so he draws his hand away from himself and pushes up onto his elbow so he can fumble under the edge of the bed to find the bottle stashed far back in the shadows. It’s a necessary distraction -- he can’t get the lid open and spill wet over his fingers without some minimal measure of focus for the action -- but his imagination is still collecting images enough to keep him hot against the pillow under his hips, to keep his breathing catching fast in his chest. Kasanoda lifting his fingers to his mouth, maybe, parting his lips to take the length of them back over his tongue; Tetsuya’s imagination slurs the wet of his fingers sticking together into the damp of Kasanoda drawing his touch back out of his mouth with deliberate sloppiness, with his skin dripping with the wet heat of his mouth. Tetsuya whimpers against the bed, barely managing to get the lid of the bottle closed before he’s falling forward again and pressing his face to the sheets as he closes his eyes, and he’s back in his own imagination as quickly as that, with Kasanoda’s wet fingers reaching behind him to press slick against his entrance.

“Oh,” Tetsuya pants against the sheets, feeling his body tense with the expectation of pressure, with the strange almost-fear of anticipation too intense to be borne in silence. “Oh god, fuck.” His cock is aching against the resistance under him; he’s too hard to care about the way he looks, about the way he must seem to the Kasanoda of his fantasy, with his hips twitching through tiny involuntary movements and his cock weighting hard pressure against the resistance of the other’s leg. There’s friction against him, cool wet bearing down against the strain of his entrance; and then force, pressure digging in against him, and Tetsuya loses all the air in his lungs to one long, drawn-out groan as a finger works inside him. It _does_ burn, the stretch and the ache hum up his spine in something very close to pain; but he’s too hot for that, his body is too well-versed in this anticipation, and the hurt unfolds into want as fast as it hits, until the reflexive clenching of his body against the intrusion is for want of more rather than attempted rejection. Kasanoda would know that, would know Tetsuya well enough to act without being told; and the pressure pushes deeper, working far into Tetsuya’s body even on the first slick stroke.

Tetsuya doesn’t know what sounds he’s making. They’re helpless, strained noises from far down in the depths of his body, rising up as if pulled free of him by the force of that thrusting finger; and his hips are still moving, bucking forward to grind hard against the friction under him as his cock stiffens in response to the pressure moving inside him. The pillow is bracing his weight, is dragging heat over sensitive skin as he grinds down against it; but he’s not thinking about the details of the sensation any more than he’s consciously focusing on the reflexive movement of his body trembling across the bed. He’s still imagining Kasanoda’s hand against him, Kasanoda’s palm bracing against the dark of the ink sweeping over over the base of his spine while the other presses deep into him; Tetsuya can almost form the outline of Kasanoda’s panting breaths from the sound of his own, can almost feel the imagined heat of Kasanoda’s cock stirring into arousal against his stomach. He ought to be embarrassed, he thinks, he might even feel some flicker of self-consciousness in other circumstances; but his awareness of his present state is fracturing with every tremor of his body, and he can’t find it in him to care how obviously desperate his movements are going. Enough to have the pressure against his cock, enough to have the motion pressing as far inside him as fingers can reach; and another finger drags against him, the rough weight offering the suggestion of friction before the actuality of it, and Tetsuya groans open-mouthed into the sheets as he feels himself stretch wide to the intrusion.

Everything starts to go hazy. Distantly Tetsuya is aware of the reality: his arm canted back uncomfortably so he can work his fingers in against the grip of his body, his hips shifting and legs flexing to press him hard against the weight of a pillow under him. But that’s far-off, easy to ignore under the circumstances, and for a blissful span of time his fantasy takes on shape of its own, enough weight and form that Tetsuya can convince his heat-slurred thoughts that Kasanoda really is here, that it truly is the weight of the other’s thigh he’s grinding against and truly the breadth of the other’s fingers pumping into him with that steady-smooth rhythm. His whole body is shaking, he’s sure Kasanoda can feel the tremor of it against his thighs; but the movement doesn’t ease, the pressure bearing down against Tetsuya doesn’t slow. Tetsuya’s thoughts are unravelling, even the structure of his fantasy giving way; he’s on Kasanoda’s lap, he tells himself, but he’s also lying across his bed, his knees pressed open while Kasanoda kneels behind him, while Kasanoda works into him with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. The rhythm is relentless, Tetsuya can feel every forward stroke like he’s being unmade, like his whole self is disintegrating into unfiltered desire, until there’s nothing in him but the desperate, frantic want; and then the fingers inside him shift, the pressure bears down hard against him, and “ _Ah_ ,” Tetsuya chokes out, his whole body going taut for a moment of unbearable tension. “ _Rit--_ ” and he’s coming, his whole body undoing itself into long, quavering tremors of heat that spill wet against the support under his hips. Tetsuya can’t stop shaking, can’t stop moving, his body is working through tiny, instinctive thrusts as he fucks down against the pillow and into himself with his fingers; and for the breathless span of his orgasm, he has relief from the too-much pressure of reality.

He feels drained by the time he moves again. The pillow is sticking to his stomach, the damp of the fabric clinging to him when he flexes his knee against the bed; drawing his fingers free of himself is a process all in itself, one that leaves him achy from the friction and feeling uncomfortably empty with the loss. His hair has slipped half-out of its ponytail, the weight of it falling to cling to his face and the back of his neck; Tetsuya only fiddles with it for a moment before he pulls the tie free entirely to let his hair fall free around his face. He needs a shower anyway, as much as his sheets need to be washed; even if he wants to collapse into bed for a nap, he’ll have to wait until the dryer is done before he can make his bed and return to the rest the clean sheets will offer. He tugs his sweatpants back up over his hips, shifts to the edge of the bed with the intent to stand; but his legs are shaky, and he’s not sure he trusts his weight to them, and for a moment the prospect of returning to reality is just too daunting. He slides over the edge of the mattress instead, dropping to sit on the floor instead of trying to get to his feet just yet, and when he tips his head in it’s to press his forehead to his knees, to shut his eyes and breathe the warmth of the room into his lungs and hold to the fading edges of his fantasy for a moment longer.

He’ll bother with feeling guilty about his indulgence later. Right now, he just wants to savour the relief for as long as he can.


	5. Mutual Satisfaction

The next time Tetsuya goes to work, he takes three lunches with him.

It’s a kind of penance, he thinks, turning over the idea in his head as he puts together the identical row of lunches that morning before work. He’d like to monopolize Kasanoda’s time and attention to himself; but he wants Kasanoda to be happy, and he’s absolutely sure Kasanoda’s own kind heart won’t let him make the suggestion of taking a lunch to himself so he can spend it with Fujioka. So Tetsuya does it for him, assembling the excuse in his head as he assembles the lunches in front of him, and by the time he’s stacking them at the bottom of his bag for safekeeping he has the words as perfectly aligned as the edges of the boxes atop each other.

He takes his lunch break early. He wants to catch Kasanoda before the other has yet left the flowershop, and that means leaving to meet him some five minutes earlier than usual. The tattoo parlor is quiet through the whole hour leading up to lunch, and when Tetsuya announces that he’s going to take off a little bit early there’s no resistance from any of his mostly-bored coworkers. He collects his bag, and makes for the door, and by the time he’s on the sidewalk he’s forgotten entirely about the work behind him for his complete focus on the conversation to come.

Tetsuya has worked it all out in his head. He can frame the whole outline of his dialogue with Kasanoda; years of friendship have given him enough insight into the other to all but speak for him in the hypothetical situation he’s considering. He’ll arrive at the shop, drop off the lunches he’s brought; and then make some excuse and retreat while Kasanoda is still distracted by Fujioka’s presence. It’s a good plan, Tetsuya thinks, it’ll be best for everyone involved like this; and by the time he’s pulling open the door of the flower shop, he’s convinced himself enough of the truth of this that he doesn’t have to struggle to find a smile for the girl standing behind the front desk.

“Good afternoon,” Fujioka offers, her smile warm and only a little bit stilted; and then, as her gaze skips up to Tetsuya’s ponytail and her expression relaxes with recognition: “Oh, hello!”

“Hi there,” Tetsuya smiles back. He adjusts the weight of the bag over his shoulder, stopping well shy of the front counter where Fujioka is standing. “Sorry to interrupt. Is Kasanoda here?”

“Sure,” Fujioka says, and turns over her shoulder to look towards the back room. “Kasanoda-san! Your friend’s here for you!” She looks back without waiting for a reply, her smile coming more easily now that the basic requirements of greeting are past. “Are you on your lunch break?”

“Yes,” Tetsuya says. “I just thought I’d drop by, I wanted to catch Kasanoda before he left.”

“I think he was finishing up in the back,” Fujioka says. “I can go and get--” but her offer is cut off by the door to the back room coming open and Kasanoda toppling forward and out of it, still in the middle of pushing the weight of his hair back from his forehead.

“Hey Tetsuya,” he says, tipping his head back to shake the hair away from his features. “Sorry I’m late, I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Oh,” Tetsuya says, and shakes his head. “You didn’t. I took my break early.”

Kasanoda blinks at him, his gaze coming into focus on Tetsuya for once instead of Fujioka next to him. “Slow day?”

Tetsuya smiles. “Kind of,” he says, and then, after just enough of a pause to separate the edges of the conversational subjects from each other: “Actually, I just thought I’d bring lunch by.” He ducks his head to look down at the bag at his hip, fixing his attention to the process of opening it as he speaks. “I wanted to try a new recipe yesterday and was hoping you would be willing to help me taste-test it.”

“Sure,” Kasanoda says at once, stepping forward towards the edge of the counter and reaching out in expectation of the box Tetsuya is working free of his bag. “I told you, I always like trying your experiments.”

“Mm, yes.” Tetsuya offers the box to Kasanoda, waiting until the other has taken the weight from him before he lets the container go. “Hopefully it’s edible.” He meets Kasanoda’s gaze for a moment, just enough to flash a brief, self-deprecating smile; and then he proceeds with the next step of his script, and lets his focus slide sideways to Fujioka on the other side of the counter. “I brought an extra one too, actually.” He lets his hand fall from the box he’s just handed to Kasanoda to rest against the bag at his side and the outline of the boxes within. “If you wanted to give it a try, I’m always glad to have another opinion.”

Fujioka blinks, her expression going blank with surprise. “Oh. I was planning to go down to the convenience store for something, but if you want feedback--”

“I do,” Tetsuya says, and looks back down to his bag so he can open the weight of the cloth and extricate the second lunch, constructed as a perfect match for the one Kasanoda is just opening. “Don’t worry, I won’t hover or anything. Just let me know if it was good or bad the next time I come in.” He lifts his head to offer the lunch along with a smile to Fujioka. “Or you can complain about it to Kasanoda and he can tell me later what I did wrong, he has lots of experience with that.”

“I don’t,” Kasanoda protests around the first bite he’s already taken from his open box. “Tetsuya’s cooking is always great, you’ll love it.”

“Don’t take his word for it,” Tetsuya tells Fujioka in a mock whisper. “He’s too nice for his own good, he’s afraid to give me any real criticism.”

Fujioka’s smile is bright and easy, without any trace of self-consciousness to strain at the corners. “Yeah, I can see that,” she says, looking sideways to grin at Kasanoda next to her. Kasanoda ducks his head, his face coloring to scarlet as he avoids Fujioka’s gaze, and she looks back to Tetsuya at the front of the shop. “Don’t worry, I’ll be as brutally honest as you want me to be.”

“Perfect,” Tetsuya says, and takes a half-step backwards towards the door. “I hope you enjoy them.” And he’s turning, reaching out for the handle as he gets to the end of his planned script. He’s given Kasanoda the perfect excuse to linger over a homemade lunch with the girl of his dreams; the best Tetsuya can do now is to extricate himself as gracefully as possible and leave Kasanoda to win Fujioka’s affections with his own goodhearted charm. Kasanoda is too distracted by the lunch Tetsuya gave him and the casual smile Fujioka turned on him to protest; by the time he realizes Tetsuya will be gone, and he’ll be able to take advantage of the situation without any guilt at abandoning his friend.

“Wait!”

It’s not Kasanoda speaking. Kasanoda is distracted, just as Tetsuya assumed he would be; but if Tetsuya accounted for his friend he forgot all about the third party in the form of Fujioka standing on the other side of the counter. He blinks at the door, his composure entirely scattered by this unexpected interjection, and when he looks back Fujioka is watching him, her usual smile easy on her face and her eyes wide and bright as she considers him.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asks. “Don’t you usually have lunch with Kasanoda on your break?”

Kasanoda blinks, his attention finally lifting from the open box in his hands to Fujioka next to him and then, almost immediately, up to Tetsuya at the door. “You’re leaving?” he asks, his voice dipping into the low resonance of concern Tetsuya had hoped to avoid. “No you’re not, you can stay, can’t you?”

“Ah,” Tetsuya says, struggling for some kind of an excuse to leave without outright lying to his best friend. “I, uh. I was planning to go back to the tattoo parlor for the break.”

“You brought a lunch for yourself too, didn’t you?” Kasanoda asks, and hard on his heels: “I can’t take your lunch!” from Fujioka as her eyes go wide with the beginnings of alarm and she reaches to start to push the lunch box Tetsuya offered back over the counter.

“No,” Tetsuya says, caught between two different statements and the need to reply to them both. Both Fujioka and Kasanoda’s eyes widen and he grimaces and turns away from the door entirely. “I mean, no, you’re not taking my lunch. I made one for myself.”

“Oh good,” Kasanoda says, his shoulders relaxing from the strain that momentarily gripped him. “I was worried.”

“Why don’t you stay here and eat with us, then?” Fujioka offers without even hesitating. “It’ll be fun.”

“You don’t have to go back, do you?” Kasanoda asks. His attention is fixed entirely on Tetsuya now; Tetsuya feels the other’s focus as if Kasanoda has reached out to brace a hand at his shoulder, as if the warm weight of the other’s touch is pinning him in place in the doorway. “Is work really that busy?”

It’s a perfect excuse. All Tetsuya has to do is wince apologetic confirmation, offer some half-formed excuse about a busy morning and only having a few minutes to spare; and he can go, can leave the flower shop and leave his friend to the lunch he had intended to offer Kasanoda as a jump-start of a possible romance. But it’s hard to lie to Kasanoda, the harder when he’s gazing at Tetsuya with such complete focus behind his eyes; and there’s Fujioka, too, watching Tetsuya from the other side of the counter with her whole face wide open on friendly encouragement, as if she’s just as anxious for Tetsuya to spend the lunch hour with them as Kasanoda is. Tetsuya hesitates for a long moment, his thoughts whirling as excuses materialize and fade from his mind; and finally he ducks his head, and looks away from the two pairs of eyes fixed on him, and says, “I’m sure I can spare some time” in the direction of the floor instead of towards either of the other two.

“Oh good!” Fujioka says. “I’ll go clear some space in the back room for us to sit.” And she’s moving as quickly as that, maneuvering past Kasanoda without any hesitation at all, even when Kasanoda himself goes stiff and awkward with what Tetsuya suspects to be abrupt recollection of Fujioka’s presence. She takes her lunchbox with her as she goes; and that just leaves Kasanoda behind the counter, and Tetsuya on the other side, still standing in front of the doorway and wondering if he shouldn’t have made his escape after all.

“Tetsuya?” Kasanoda says. When Tetsuya looks up Kasanoda’s lowered his lunchbox to the counter in front of him, his attention to the meal evaporated with the formation of the crease of concern at his forehead; whatever momentary discomfort he felt about Fujioka’s presence is nowhere to be seen in the frown he’s fixing on the other. “Are you okay?” He steps forward and around the edge of the counter, moving without any hesitation to close the gap between himself and Tetsuya as he reaches out to brace his hand to steadiness at the other’s shoulder. “You seem kinda weird.”

“Oh.” Tetsuya swallows in an attempt to clear his throat. Kasanoda’s hand is heavy against his shoulder; if he thinks about it he can feel the weight of each individual finger pressing close against his skin. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Kasanoda’s frown only eases minimally. “You sure?”

Tetsuya nods. “Yep,” he says, wondering if he sounds as strangled by his own self-consciousness as he feels. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Kasanoda’s forehead still holds to its crease, but when he moves it’s to nod, and as Tetsuya keeps gazing up at him his frown lets some of its tension go to relax the lines of his expression. “Alright,” he says, and then he’s turning towards the back room again, his hand still weighting at Tetsuya’s shoulder. “You’re gonna stick around for lunch, right?”

Tetsuya ducks his head into agreement. “I said I would.”

“Good.” Kasanoda sounds determined in his agreement, even in the moment before his hand slides sideways so he can fit the whole weight of his arm around Tetsuya’s shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my lunch partner.”

That’s not the only thing Tetsuya wants to be. He wants Kasanoda to want him the way he wants Fujioka, wants Kasanoda to look at him with that starstruck appreciation in his gaze that is so clear when he watches his coworker. But Kasanoda’s arm is warm against Tetsuya’s shoulders, and the easy affection on his words is audibly sincere, and Tetsuya’s chest goes tight with appreciation for that much, even if it’s not enough, even if he can feel the gap between what Kasanoda can give him and what he craves himself like a chasm weighting against the spaces between his ribs. It’s not everything he wants to be to Kasanoda; but it’s everything that Kasanoda wants from him, and Tetsuya can feel the tension ease out of his shoulders as he gives in to a smile and a huffed laugh that carries more surrender with the breath than Kasanoda knows.

In the end, Tetsuya will always be willing to satisfy himself with what Kasanoda is able to give him.


	6. Face Value

“ _God_ ,” Kasanoda groans from where he’s sprawling across the floor of his living room. “I’m _useless_.”

Tetsuya allows himself a smile against the edge of his sake cup. “You’re not useless,” he tells the other, eying Kasanoda’s empty cup as surreptitiously as he can. “You’re just a little bit tipsy.”

“I have no idea how to do this,” Kasanoda says, with as much dedication to his topic as if he hasn’t heard Tetsuya’s response at all. “I don’t know how to flirt. I’ve never even asked someone out before. Why do guys have to do all the work, that doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“The alternative would be waiting and hoping,” Tetsuya points out, not without a prickle of awareness of the irony on his words as he offers them. “It isn’t a very good choice either way.”

“I know,” Kasanoda says. He has his arm angled over his face and is speaking from under the shadow it casts across his features; the position he’s in leaves his hair to fall in a tangle of color underneath him, like a pillow for his head where it’s tipped back against the floor. It also covers his eyes, which means he doesn’t see the sidelong glances Tetsuya keeps sneaking at him; a dangerous game, he knows, but the temptation is impossible to resist with his veins humming warm with alcohol and Kasanoda’s shirt riding up by an inch over his hips. Kasanoda’s free hand falls heavy over his stomach just at the moment, his fingers spreading wide to pin the soft of his clothes against his skin; Tetsuya is grateful to the excuse of the alcohol for the color at his own cheeks, even if he’s only a few cups in.

Kasanoda’s still talking, oblivious to Tetsuya’s wandering thoughts and wandering gaze alike. “But I’ve never dated _anyone_. I don’t have any idea how to do this.” He lets his arm fall away from his face and up over his head to scowl at the ceiling instead. “Aren’t you supposed to have dated in high school?”

“Hardly anyone has a steady relationship in high school,” Tetsuya points out. “If that were a prerequisite for adult romance the population in general would be in far worse straits than we already are.”

Kasanoda’s frown deepens. “Maybe not dating,” he allows. “But confessing, at least. You’re supposed to confess to your first love, right? Even if you get rejected.” He blinks, his gaze sliding away from the ceiling and down to catch at Tetsuya watching him. “You confessed to people, didn’t you?”

Tetsuya can feel his whole expression go blank with the first shock of this question. He has to blink twice before he can find voice from his suddenly panicked breaths, and even then he’s afraid the words come out strained on far more tension than the answer suggests. “What?” He looks away and down towards his cup, forcing a smile and a laugh. “I never told you about confessing.”

“You must have, though,” Kasanoda persists. “You were cool in high school, everyone liked you.”

Tetsuya shakes his head and retreats to the safety of swallowing a mouthful of liquid, just for the sake of having something to keep him from talking for a moment. “I didn’t confess to anyone.”

“Really?” Kasanoda sounds a little disbelieving and mostly surprised.

“Really.” Tetsuya fixes his gaze on what remains of the liquid in his cup. “I wouldn’t have confessed without telling you about it, Kasanoda.”

Kasanoda snorts. “Guess not,” he says, and for a moment Tetsuya thinks he’s safe; but then: “You _got_ confessions all the time, though.”

Tetsuya flinches at this reminder of the handful of painfully awkward conversations after school before meeting up with Kasanoda for the walk home. “Ah.” He clears his throat, coughs as delicately as he can manage. “Only a few.”

“More than me,” Kasanoda says, sounding faintly wistful. “Why didn’t you ever accept any of them? I would’ve been flattered just to know someone was interested in me.”

Tetsuya feels like he’s going to choke on the simple act of inhaling air into his lungs. “I didn’t like them the way they liked me.” He takes a breath, braces himself for careful honesty. “I was always interested in someone else.”

It feels ridiculously obvious in his head, as if the oblique words are as good as a glowing sign for _I’ve been helplessly in love with Kasanoda Ritsu since I was fourteen_. But while Tetsuya is feeling his heart skid over panic in his chest Kasanoda is heaving a sigh behind him, sounding sympathetic and understanding rather than shocked by any particular epiphany.

“That sucks,” he says. “You never had the nerve to confess either, huh?”

Tetsuya shakes his head without looking up from his cup. “Never.”

“Huh,” Kasanoda offers. “I guess a pretty face doesn’t solve everything.”

Tetsuya glances sideways at Kasanoda. The other is looking up at the ceiling again, the weight of the frown at his mouth deepening as he considers the blank surface over him; there’s no trace of self-consciousness anywhere in his expression at having offered the compliment Tetsuya will never get used to hearing from him, no matter how often it’s repeated. Tetsuya looks away again.

“There has to be a first time for everything,” he says in the lightest tone he can manage, reaching out for the bottle of sake on the other side of the table with the intent of refilling his empty cup. “It was always going to be stressful. At least Fujioka-san is nice enough to not judge you for being nervous.”

“There does have to be a first time,” Kasanoda says, his voice dropping down into a range of intense consideration that the words hardly merit. Tetsuya tips his head to look at Kasanoda again, wondering if the alcohol the other has already had has really had that much of an effect on him; but his friend is just frowning at the ceiling, his gaze fully abstracted by whatever thoughts are working through his head. Tetsuya looks away, back to the bottle in his hand that he’s lifting towards his cup; and then: “ _Tetsuya_ ,” so sharp and sudden he jumps and nearly loses his grip on the bottle entirely. Kasanoda pushes to sit up next to him, his movement as abrupt as his speech, and Tetsuya is turning to blink at him, his pursuit of a refill entirely forgotten by Kasanoda’s sudden proximity. “That’s _it_.”

“What?” Tetsuya says, feeling like he missed some crucial piece of this conversation. Maybe _he’s_ the one who’s starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. “What is it?”

“A first time,” Kasanoda says. He’s gazing full at Tetsuya, fixing the other with the shadowed intensity of all his focus; Tetsuya presses his lips tight together in an attempt to repress the shudder of electricity that runs down his spine, but it’s a doomed effort before it begins. “I need to practice confessing.”

Tetsuya blinks. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t…” and then he does, and his whole body flinches back in the first wave of understanding. “ _Oh_.”

“I need your help,” Kasanoda says, and he’s reaching out, his hand is pressing warm and steady at Tetsuya’s shoulder and Tetsuya can feel himself coming apart, can feel the whole of his psyche trying desperately to backtrack from this before the question comes, before he actually hears the request he knows he won’t be able to refuse. “I have to _practice_ , Tetsuya, you know I’ll screw it up otherwise.”

“Sure,” Tetsuya says, sounding as breathless as he feels. “Makes sense. I can ask my cousin to come to visit, you can practice confessing to her.”

“I can’t practice with a _girl_ ,” Kasanoda says, his tone infusing the word with all the vague appreciation of worship. “She’s not going to want to talk to me anyway, Fujioka’s the first girl who wasn’t scared of me.” His hand tightens at Tetsuya’s shoulder, his fingers pressing close against the dip of the other’s collarbone like he’s pushing the weight of his sincerity against Tetsuya’s skin. “Please, Tetsuya.”

Tetsuya shakes his head, a last half-formed attempt at refusing this, this that’s too much to ask, this that he is absolutely sure will undo whatever resistance he had left to himself. “I can’t, I. We’re _friends_.”

“That’s why I need your help,” Kasanoda tells him, the logic so pristine Tetsuya can only shut his eyes in surrender. “Because we’re friends, you won’t make it weird.” Tetsuya can feel hysteria starting in the back of his throat, the pressure of _making it weird_ bearing down at the back of his tongue with an ache to match the burn of tears starting behind his eyes. There’s a pause, a gap of time while Tetsuya focuses on levelling his breathing and easing the pressure in his throat; and then, more softly, “Please,” as the intensity of Kasanoda’s voice drops off into the gentle soft of pleading that Tetsuya can’t refuse, that Tetsuya has never been able to refuse. “I really...I really need your help, Tetsuya.”

Tetsuya takes a breath, feels the weight of it straining his lungs and filling the whole space of his chest. Kasanoda’s hand is still on his shoulder, the pressure of it warm and steady and certain enough to override all Tetsuya’s defenses, all his sense of self-preservation giving way with the weight of a single touch.

“Okay,” he says, and ducks his head as Kasanoda’s fingers tighten, as Kasanoda breathes a sigh of relief and a “Thank you” weighted with so much gratitude it’s almost enough to override Tetsuya’s own sense of self-destruction. Tetsuya tightens his fingers against the edges of the cup still at his palm, the motion some half-formed attempt to brace himself against what he’s about to do; and then he lets the cup go, and lifts his head, and turns in towards Kasanoda.

“Just so I don’t make an idiot of myself,” Kasanoda says, letting his touch at Tetsuya’s shoulder go so he can pull back and sit facing the other. “I’ll just end up stumbling over the words if I’ve never even said them before.”

“Sure,” Tetsuya says, the lie of agreement coming easy to his lips. “I completely understand.”

Kasanoda’s smile flashes bright at his mouth. “You really are the best.”

Tetsuya manages to find a smile instead of a flinch. “I try,” he says, and then, as he squares his shoulders and steadies his breathing, “Ready when you are.”

Kasanoda lets out a long breath. “Okay,” he says; and then, with a half-formed laugh that doesn’t make it to his eyes, “This _is_ a little weird, huh?”

Tetsuya shakes his head without thinking. His heart is racing in his chest for all his attempts to ease it with rationality; he feels like his every sense is thrumming with attention, like his whole existence is standing ready to take in whatever input he’ll have from this moment to remember it forever. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice cool and calm and distant even from himself. “It’s just practice.”

“Right,” Kasanoda says, blinking hard. “Right. Yeah. Practicing for Fujioka-san.”

“Right.” Tetsuya folds his hands in his lap, letting his arms go slack with the appearance of relaxation. He hopes Kasanoda won’t look at his fingers and the desperate grip he’s pressing in against the backs of his hands, as if any kind of physical force can possibly brace him for this. “Just pretend I’m her and go for it.”

Kasanoda flushes, his cheeks coloring to a shade nearly a match for his hair. “Yeah,” he says, his voice grating down over a range of gravel that Tetsuya can feel run down the whole of his spine like a touch. “Fu-fujioka-san.” He pauses, pushes a hand through his hair, clears his throat. “I have something to say to you.”

Tetsuya hesitates. Should he adopt an imitation of Fujioka’s voice, should he try to pitch his own vocal range into more feminine heights? But that will sound more foolish than effective, he thinks, and he’s not sure he could manage it anyway, not with his heart beating as fast as it is. “Sure. Go ahead, Kasanoda-san.” The honorific feels strange on his tongue, weights the familiar syllables of Kasanoda’s name with odd distance; but it’s the best he has to offer, under the circumstances, the closest he can come to actually acting out the role of Kasanoda’s beloved coworker.

Kasanoda lets out a long breath. He’s looking at Tetsuya’s hands instead of at the other’s face; Tetsuya has the strong impression Kasanoda can’t bear to meet his gaze. His face is still red, is going redder with every breath he takes. “I. Uh.” He coughs, clears his throat again, and then speaks fast, words toppling one over the other as fast as they come from his lips. “I really like you.”

It’s not the way Tetsuya has always imagined this, in the fantasies he knew for the illusions they were. Kasanoda’s not looking at him, Kasanoda is speaking to him as if to a stranger; and most importantly, Kasanoda’s not speaking to _him_ at all, he’s just using Tetsuya as a stand-in for the actual object of his affections. But the sound of those words on Kasanoda’s lips -- to know what they actually sound like in Kasanoda’s voice -- it’s still enough to catch Tetsuya’s breath sharply in his chest, to steal the clarity of his thought and leave him dizzy and disoriented for a moment.

“Oh,” he says, and he sounds so breathless he’s glad, now, he didn’t try to adopt a persona other than his own; he’s sure any attempt at acting would completely collapse in this moment, would make his true reaction painfully, abundantly clear. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says. He seems to have gained some measure of gritted-teeth determination from his beginning; he’s still speaking, at least, pushing forward through the vague script of this interaction while Tetsuya stares at the dark color of the other’s hair and feels his heart racing like it’s trying to run itself through what remains of his life all at once. “So I wanted to tell you. And to find out if you--” The words catch in his throat, choke off his speech; he stalls for a moment before he can cough himself back to clarity and go on. “--If you would go out with me.”

This is madness. Tetsuya should never have agreed to this, he can see that now; better to plead discomfort, better to get Kasanoda drunk, better _anything_ than this, than Kasanoda blushing and stammering his way through a confession and a request that Tetsuya is only the stand-in for, that Tetsuya will only ever experience in this secondhand format. Tetsuya had thought this would be better, thought that he might gain some measure of relief from having the structure of this experience to build his own hopeless fantasies upon; but this is worse, this is _far_ worse than all his imagination, like seeing something desperately wanted from the other side of unbreakable glass, like touching, tasting, _having_ it only to have it slide through his fingers and dissolve back into impossibility again, leaving behind that gap of its absence that Tetsuya can perfectly shape, now that he knows what it would feel like. But he can’t tell Kasanoda to stop now, he can’t retreat from this at this point; he can feel everything in him aching for more, longer, for the need to draw this out as long as possible just for what fleeting satisfaction he can have from indulging in the fantasy.

“Oh,” Tetsuya says again, and there’s none of Fujioka in his voice now, there’s only himself, stripped down to sincerity coursing too hot in his veins to repress. “Yes, Kasanoda, I’ll go out with you.”

Kasanoda gusts an exhale, the sound rough with the weight of relief it bears; and then he lifts his head to meet Tetsuya’s gaze, and his mouth drags up sharply at one corner on a lopsided grin. “That was _awful_.”

Kasanoda’s expression is relaxing, his blush is fading; he’s falling back into himself, fitting back into the familiar structure of friendship that Tetsuya has always had from him instead of the awkward discomfort he adopted even from just the thought of Fujioka in front of him. He looks calmer, easier in himself, like he can breathe normally again; and Tetsuya can’t breathe at all, Tetsuya can feel everything about the moment fracturing away and slipping through his fingers and he can’t let it go, he can’t let his desperate grip on this moment ease for even a heartbeat. Kasanoda is tipping back, is pulling away, friendliness sweeping back in to take the place of that brief anxiety; and Tetsuya’s the one who leans in this time, who reaches out to grab a desperate hold against the other’s arm even as Kasanoda’s shoulders relax into calm.

“You should practice more than that,” he blurts, and this is stupid, this is _absolutely_ the stupidest thing he has ever done in his entire life but: “You know usually people kiss, once they’re dating.”

Kasanoda freezes. If it was stress Tetsuya wanted to pull from the other he’s certainly succeeded; Kasanoda’s entire body has gone as rigid as if the other’s words have turned him to stone, as if the mere suggestion of this idea is enough to throw him into the full effect of panic where he sits. “W-what?”

“I mean, if Fujioka-san accepts,” Tetsuya says, feeling carried forward as if on an unstoppable wave, as if his heart has seized control of his mouth away from his mind and is spilling whatever it can find to hold to this moment, to keep Kasanoda here, to take as much as Tetsuya can get from the situation before he loses it forever. “And she knows you, she ought to say yes. _I_ would, in her position” but that’s too close, that’s too much, Tetsuya has to keep talking at once to overwrite the sincerity of those words. “You’ll want to make sure you have some experience with kissing too, right?”

Kasanoda blinks. Tetsuya can’t tell if he’s convincing the other or just overwhelming him; he’s lost all sense of objectivity along with his own self-restraint, he can hardly understand his own words for how high the panic in him is spiking. He still has a hold on Kasanoda’s arm, his fingers are still pressing close against the other’s sleeve; Tetsuya can feel the tiny shift of the other’s body under his grip. “Yes?”

“Right,” Tetsuya agrees, because Kasanoda sounds uncertain but he _is_ agreeing, after all, and that means… “You can practice on me.” He lets his hold on Kasanoda’s arm go as the first rush of panic passes, as he mentally retreats to some level of calm again. He wants to duck his head, wants to look away from Kasanoda’s wide-eyed stare, but he doesn’t dare; he thinks it’s only stubborn willpower that’s keeping him from turning crimson and giving himself away entirely, and if he looks away he feels he’ll lose his grasp on everything all at once. He squares his shoulders, rocks back on his heels, aims for the most casual tone he can find. It’s strange in his throat, low and rough as his voice has never been before; but at least the words come out, even if they feel like he’s borrowed them from someone else. “I’m your friend. I want to help you.”

Kasanoda’s forehead creases. “You don’t mind?” he asks, but the question is rhetorical, and his gaze is skimming Tetsuya’s face like he’s trying to read a book, like he’s seeking out the details of the other’s reaction from his expression. Tetsuya holds his face as still as he can, like it’s a mask to lift up as a wall in front of the hammering speed of his heart in his chest; and then Kasanoda’s focus slides down to his mouth, and he would swear the whole gravity of the world drops out from under him at once. Kasanoda’s lashes dip, his chin comes down; and he huffs a laugh, the sound faint but still enough to run heat into every inch of Tetsuya’s body at once.

“Okay,” he says, and Tetsuya can’t breathe but Kasanoda is looking up at him without waiting for a response, his eyes dark and his mouth fixed on intention. “Sorry. It’ll probably be terrible.”

Tetsuya shakes his head, struggling for air enough to voice a rejection of this idea. “It’s fine,” he manages at last, sounding breathless and hoping desperately that Kasanoda won’t notice. “The point is to get better, right?”

“Right,” Kasanoda says, but his gaze is dropping to Tetsuya’s mouth again, his eyes lingering there until Tetsuya would swear he can feel the weight of the other’s attention like a physical touch, as if Kasanoda had reached out to press his fingertips against the curve of the other’s mouth instead of just his attention. Tetsuya is sure his breathing is audible, is sure in a moment Kasanoda will notice the ragged edges of his panting inhales in the air; but Kasanoda is turning red again, his face flushing into self-consciousness as he stares at Tetsuya’s lips, and if he hears he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

“Right,” he says again, and then, at once: “Okay” and he’s moving instantly, impulse carrying him forward before Tetsuya has a chance to brace himself. Kasanoda’s hand comes out, his fingers catch roughly at the back of Tetsuya’s neck, and Tetsuya is just catching an inhale of shock and half-terrified anticipation when Kasanoda’s mouth comes down on his, and the weight of the other’s lips crushes his own back against his teeth.

It’s too rough. Tetsuya’s never been kissed before, he has no experience to go on; but surely it’s not meant to be like this, with Kasanoda pushing at him like it’s a fight and Tetsuya’s teeth catching bruise-painful against the inside of his mouth. Tetsuya is being forced back, he’s losing his balance and has to throw a hand out to catch himself; but he can’t breathe, he can’t think, and maybe it _is_ meant to be like this, he thinks wildly, as his blood sings to life in his veins and his whole body surges itself into heat until he thinks he ought to be glowing against Kasanoda’s grip. He can feel the pressure of Kasanoda’s hand at the back of his neck, can feel the heat of Kasanoda’s mouth crushing flush against his own; and some deep-down want takes control of his body, brings his hand up to drift towards Kasanoda’s shirt as Tetsuya tips his head to the side, as he shifts his jaw and starts to open his mouth to--

Kasanoda draws back in a rush, gasping for an inhale as if he’s just come up from underwater. Tetsuya is left with his fingers stalled in mid-air, his lips aching from the force of that first impact, and his whole being crying out for the more he’s been so roughly deprived of.

“There,” Kasanoda says. Tetsuya can’t tell if he sounds breathless, can’t tell if he sounds perfectly ordinary; his own heartbeat is ringing in his ears like bells, he can barely think for the weight of sound pounding against his head with every rush of blood like steam through his veins. “That.” He coughs and clears his throat roughly. Tetsuya can feel the movement of the air from Kasanoda’s mouth against his lips. “How was that?”

Tetsuya has to answer, he realizes distantly. There was a point to this, there was some kind of an excuse underlying this whole experience of complete insanity; he’s meant to be giving feedback, to coach Kasanoda into some greater skill at this particular act than what his natural tendencies lead him to. It’s hard to remember. Tetsuya feels like the purpose of his existence has rather narrowed to that of a vessel for the heat coursing so strongly through his veins, catching in his throat and stealing his breath until he’s all but whimpering with every exhale.

It’s a struggle to speak. Even when Tetsuya does, his words sound echoey, distant, like they’re being shouted by some stranger on a faraway hilltop. “Too hard,” he says, sounding calm, sounding composed. He wonders, vaguely, if his face is as warm as his blood feels. He wonders if he’s as flushed as Kasanoda is, if his eyes are really as heavy-lidded as they feel. Kasanoda’s staring at him, his eyes open as wide as they will go and his full attention fixed on Tetsuya’s face; as Tetsuya watches him he touches his tongue to his lips, licking unconscious moisture over the curve of them. Tetsuya can feel the motion burn through him as if it’s the curve of his cock under Kasanoda’s tongue instead.

“Gentler,” he says, his gaze fixing itself on Kasanoda’s eyes while his cock aches against the front of his jeans, while his whole body vibrates with desire for more, for Kasanoda to crush his mouth against Tetsuya’s again, for Kasanoda to push him back down to the floor and for Kasanoda to… “Come in more slowly. Take your time, it’s not a race.”

Kasanoda ducks his head in a sharp nod of understanding. His face is still crimson. “Yeah,” he says, “got it” and he’s leaning in again, just as suddenly as the first time. Tetsuya’s whole body goes still, his limbs freezing in place where he sits as if Kasanoda’s motion has stolen his own agency from him; but Kasanoda doesn’t hesitate, even if his movement is visibly slower than the first time. Tetsuya has time to see Kasanoda leaning in, has time to watch the dark of Kasanoda’s lashes dip down as he shuts his eyes, as he tips his head carefully to the side; and then his mouth is against Tetsuya’s again, ghosting uncertain weight at first and then stronger as he steadies himself, and Tetsuya has to shut his eyes and focus his attention on holding back the helpless noise of heat in the depths of his chest. Kasanoda is kissing him, now, _really_ kissing him, his lips fitting soft against Tetsuya’s, their mouths pressed flush together so Tetsuya can feel every uncertain motion of the other’s body; and Tetsuya can feel his resolve fraying, can feel every fiber in his body crying out to push back, to lean in, to open his mouth and lick against Kasanoda’s lips and climb into Kasanoda’s lap, to dig his fingers into fists on that dark hair and pull Kasanoda closer and _have_ him, as Tetsuya has always wanted him, to pull him close enough that Tetsuya can finally sate the desperate ache roaring itself to life in the framework of his chest. His hand is touching at Kasanoda’s shoulder, his fingers are sliding up over the seam of the other’s shirt and towards his neck, reaching for the friction of a handhold as Tetsuya’s body tenses in expectation of leaning in for more; and Kasanoda pulls back again, gasping another deep lungful of air, and Tetsuya’s intention goes cold in him with the loss of the other’s mouth on his.

“Like that?” Kasanoda asks, sounding as uncertain of himself as if he’s just offered some performance and isn’t sure how it’s likely to be received.

Tetsuya takes a breath, fills the whole of his lungs with words left unsaid, with want doomed to silence; and then he draws his hand away, and leans back, and when he opens his mouth his voice comes out cool and calm, like that stranger has inhabited the whole of his aching body and is moving him like a puppet.

“Yes,” he says, steady, composed, braced against the storm of desire in his veins, in his chest, rippling through his body like a wildfire. “Breathe through your nose and you won’t feel so much like you’re drowning.” Tetsuya is drowning, he’s sinking down, he’s being swallowed up by the weight of his own desire, like ocean water surging cold and heavy into his lungs with every breath he takes, like he can’t breathe without the press of Kasanoda’s mouth on his. He blinks, lifts his head in the vague direction of the clock, makes an incoherent noise that he hopes passes for surprise. “It’s later than I thought.”

“What?” Kasanoda’s head turns to follow Tetsuya’s gaze; his distraction gives Tetsuya the chance to brace a hand at the floor and push himself to his feet. “Oh.”

“I should head home,” Tetsuya says, struggling over words as they cling to the back of his tongue and catch at the inside of his chest. “I’ve got first shift at work in the morning. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kasanoda says, and he’s scrambling to his feet as well, pushing hard at the table with the bottle of sake and their empty cups on it. “Will you be alright?”

Tetsuya nods, the lie coming easy with the motion to guide it. “Of course. It’s not the first time I’ll go without a little sleep.” His mouth curves on a smile, his hand comes out to rest casually at Kasanoda’s shoulder; only for a moment, for a carefully counted heartbeat, and then fall away, draw back, retreat to safety. “I’ll see you for lunch, right?”

“Yeah.” Tetsuya steps past Kasanoda to move towards the doorway, where his shoes are tumbled alongside the other’s; he kneels at the tile, lowering himself to sit at the floor so he can pull them onto one foot and then the other. Kasanoda trails him, his footsteps softened by his own lack of shoes but still thudding solid against the floor with each step he takes. He pauses over Tetsuya’s shoulder, his silence pulling the moment long and weighty; then: “Sorry,” so softly Tetsuya can barely hear it. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Tetsuya’s hands keep working on his shoes, keep moving through the familiar pattern of undoing his laces and sliding the shoe over his foot before tightening the whole down against his sock and looping the laces around into a bow. He’s grateful to the habit under the action that lets him keep moving while his mind braces itself, while he pulls up every ounce of self-control he has ever had to settle behind his eyes, against his jaw, at the corners of his mouth; and then he turns, looking over his shoulder to flash a smile up at Kasanoda behind him.

“You didn’t,” he says, and drops his hand to push to his feet. “It’s just for practice, it doesn’t mean anything.” He claps his hand against Kasanoda’s shoulder again with as much friendliness as he can muster; it’s a struggle, but the crease at Kasanoda’s forehead eases a little as he gazes at Tetsuya, and Tetsuya considers it worth the effort if it achieves his goals. “What are friends for but to keep you from making an idiot of yourself in front of your crush?”

That gets a laugh from Kasanoda, like it was supposed to; his whole expression eases, the crease at his forehead and the frown at his mouth both giving way to the simple relief of sincere laughter.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I need all the help I can get.” He reaches out for Tetsuya’s elbow, his grip as truly casual as Tetsuya intended his own to seem, and when he pulls Tetsuya leans in, letting himself be drawn into a one-armed hug that presses him close against the support of Kasanoda’s chest.

“Thanks,” Kasanoda says against his ear, his arm still tight around Tetsuya’s shoulders. “You’re a good friend.”

Tetsuya’s fingers tighten at Kasanoda’s shirt, Tetsuya’s eyes close against the weight of the other’s words. For a moment he can’t speak; and then, with effort: “You’re welcome,” with as much sincerity as he can manage. “It’s the least you deserve.”

That, at least, is absolute truth.


	7. Cracked Foundations

Tetsuya is worried about Kasanoda.

They don’t talk about that night again. Tetsuya doesn’t want to bring it up, isn’t sure he can trust himself to get away with casual unconcern if he’s pressured by the too-clear memory of Kasanoda’s mouth on his, of Kasanoda’s cheeks going red with self-consciousness as he framed words to a confession, of Kasanoda’s breath spilling warm and rushed over his lips. For his part Kasanoda seems just as content to leave everything that happened unacknowledged, either from embarrassment or from a complete lack of it; and that’s good enough, that would be sufficient to undo the stress at the back of Tetsuya’s thoughts if that were all there is to it. But Kasanoda’s shoulders are hanging heavier with every day that passes, his smile is coming more slowly every time he musters it, and as the days go by Tetsuya can’t convince himself that he’s imagining things, can’t tell himself that Kasanoda’s just having a bad day and he’ll snap out of it.

He wonders, at first, if Kasanoda did actually ask Fujioka out, if it’s the weight of rejection that’s hanging so heavy at his shoulders; but “No,” Kasanoda says when Tetsuya asks, “I haven’t talked to her,” and then goes so silent asking any further questions feels like insufferable prying. Tetsuya retreats to the safety of talking about his own days, of telling whatever stories he can find worth mentioning in the course of his work at the tattoo parlor; but Kasanoda just ducks his head, and musters smiles that seem to cost him more effort than amusement, and Tetsuya is left to fret through evenings spent alone after Kasanoda has retreated to the quiet of his own apartment with a request for yet another quiet night.

It’s like watching a collapse in slow motion, like watching the life slowly drain from a flower deprived of necessary water. Tetsuya can see Kasanoda’s energy dip lower with each passing day, can see unhappiness settling heavier on his shoulders like it’s making itself a home there; and he would swear his heart aches more with every confirmation of the other’s misery, with every evidence of Kasanoda’s suffering. Tetsuya is used to bearing the weight of his own unreciprocated feelings, used to smiling through the burden of his pining heart for a man who will never see him as anything more than a friend; he wishes, now, that he could take on twice the pain, ten times the suffering, anything at all to relieve the stark misery from the lines of Kasanoda’s face. It overrides his selfish upset at Kasanoda’s crush on Fujioka, overwhelms whatever dark, unstated wishes he might have had for the failure of the other’s romance, until he’s nearly ready to ask Fujioka out on Kasanoda’s behalf just for the sake of seeing his best friend’s smile again.

He’s thinking about that as he makes his way to the flower shop for his lunch break, a handful of days after that night made memorable by unwary decisions and half-formed excuses. He’s not thinking about the past, though, isn’t thinking about the heartache that has been a constant companion to him for the month since Fujioka began working at the flowershop; he’s thinking of Kasanoda, trying to cling to what fragment of hope he can sustain that the other will have shaken off the weight of his unhappiness, or at least will have found the voice to make the confession that will free him from the discomfort of uncertainty. Maybe Fujioka will have said yes, maybe Kasanoda will be bright and glowing and bubbling over with the same kind of joy he used to find from a smile or a glance or a word from his coworker; and then Tetsuya pulls open the door to the flowershop, and Fujioka looks up from behind the counter, and the crease at her forehead sweeps aside all his fragile hopes like a candleflame held up to the wind.

“Sendo-san,” she says, her voice as politely welcoming as the smile at her lips; but her expression gives way as soon as he steps through the door, unable to maintain itself against the concern so clear in her face. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Tetsuya says, flashing back a smile that he suspects looks like exactly as much of a struggle as Fujioka’s own appears to be. “Is Kasanoda free?”

“Mm, yeah,” Fujioka says, with a glance towards the back room. “He said he’d be out in a minute.”

“Alright.” Tetsuya hunches his shoulders, reaches to adjust his coat. “I’ll wait.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, a moment going long between Tetsuya’s tipped-in shoulders and Fujioka’s deliberately professional tone; and then, at once, as rapidly as if there’s a dam giving way: “Sendo-san, is everything alright with Kasanoda-san?”

Tetsuya looks up to meet Fujioka’s gaze, his eyes widening with shock he doesn’t have a chance of restraining. “What?”

“He’s looked so unhappy recently,” Fujioka explains, her forehead creasing deeper as her mouth dips down on a frown. “He doesn’t say anything’s wrong but I thought I’d ask in case there’s anything I can do, and I thought if anyone knows what’s going on with him you would.”

“Ah,” Tetsuya says, a little taken aback and a lot flattered by this assumption on Fujioka’s part. “He’s.” He thinks about saying _he’s fine_ , about offering the polite lie that will be as clearly untrue as the smile he’ll give with it; but Fujioka is gazing at him with her whole expression open on sincere concern, and her brow creased with that confused worry, and Tetsuya can’t find the willpower to lie to her, not when the fact of his dishonesty will be so abundantly clear so immediately. He huffs an exhale instead, letting the air spill from his lips as the stress falls from his shoulders, and when he smiles it’s more sincere than anything else he’s managed all day.

“He’s not,” he admits; and then, as Fujioka’s brows knit together and she opens her mouth to speak: “but he will be,” fast, before she has a chance to volunteer help. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Fujioka’s expression eases, some measure of the concern unwinding from her face. “Will you?” she asks. “I’d hoped you’d say that. Do you know what’s wrong?”

Tetsuya ducks his head forward to fix his gaze on the countertop instead of on the clear innocence of Fujioka’s gaze on him. “I think I have some idea,” he admits. “I’ll work it out with him, I promise.”

Fujioka sighs. “Cool,” she says, sounding sincerely relieved. “I just want him to feel better. He’s a good guy, you know?”

Tetsuya glances up. Fujioka’s eyes are clear, her whole expression wide-open with that unselfconscious sincerity that has so characterized all Tetsuya’s interactions with her, without any trace of the irony that might be on someone else’s tone at offering such an overt compliment.

“I do,” Tetsuya agrees, and when he reaches for a smile he finds it’s within his reach, even with his heart aching on the heavy awareness of his own impending loss, on the inevitability of the culmination that is finally coming for him in spite of all the weeks and months of delay he’s had to enjoy its absence. “I’ll talk to him.”

His own heart might be cracking, might be preparing to give way to the devastation that Tetsuya has seen coming for him since he first saw the way Kasanoda looked at Fujioka; but if it’ll bring back the light in Kasanoda’s eyes, Tetsuya’s own heart is a small price to pay.


	8. Good Advice

“Are you sure you want to go for a walk?” Kasanoda asks as they step out of the flowershop and the first buffet of wind hits them both. “It looks like it’s about to rain.”

Tetsuya shakes his head. “The rain’s meant to hold off until later tonight,” he says. “We’ll both be warm at home by the time it actually starts coming down, I bet.” There’s another reason for his insistence on the walk -- he can hardly have Fujioka there for what he needs to say to Kasanoda -- but Kasanoda doesn’t ask for more. Tetsuya would be more relieved by this if he didn’t have such a creeping sense that Kasanoda’s silence is more from an inability to muster the strength for interest rather than polite capitulation; as it is he’s afraid the other just doesn’t care particularly if he gets caught in the oncoming downpour or not.

They stay quiet for the distance of the sidewalk, maneuvering through the crowd in silence Tetsuya hopes feels more companionable than strained. There’s not much chance to have the conversation they need to have right now anyway, not with the constant interruption of people to move around and streets to cross, so Tetsuya lets discussion go, preferring to lose himself to the murmur of his own thoughts rather than offer the relative inanity of small talk to someone who doesn’t seem interested in much of anything, least of all meaningless conversation. They make their way along the sidewalk, and up to the main street crossing, and through the cluster of pedestrians with their heads ducked down and shoulders hunched against the wind; and then they’re stepping off the sidewalk and onto one of the smooth paths running through the park, and Tetsuya can’t delay anymore.

It’s harder to find the words than he thought it would be. They’ve been waiting on the back of his tongue for weeks, now; they’re as good as old friends, made familiar by too-much thinking if nothing else. But now that the time comes for it it’s hard to let them go, hard to fill his lungs when he knows what he’s going to say, and in the end Tetsuya has to gasp an inhale and blurt them all at once, without giving himself time to hesitate or balk over the speaking.

“You should confess to Fujioka-san.”

The statement sounds loud to Tetsuya’s ears, even with the rush of the wind around him to steal the voice from his lips as fast as he offers it. Kasanoda seems to think so too, judging from how fast his head turns as he blinks to stare at Tetsuya next to him; but Tetsuya only glances at the other before he returns his gaze to the path in front of them and soldiers on through the declaration he’s been intending to make all day.

“There’s no real point in delaying,” he says, feeling every thud of his footsteps on the path under him like the impact is jolting up his spine to knock free whatever personal emotion he might have attached to the words he’s offering and leaving only calm, serene rationality on his voice. “She might already know how you feel and just be waiting for you to say something, and if not it’ll be better for her to be aware.”

Kasanoda takes a ragged inhale. “But what if she--”

“She likes you,” Tetsuya talks over him, flinching at interrupting whatever Kasanoda was going to say but unable to stop the flow of words from his lips now that they’ve started. “She thinks you’re a good person. You _are_ a good person.” Tetsuya’s chest is aching, he would swear he can feel his heart creaking on the point of collapse with every pump of blood through his veins, but he keeps talking like a man determined to see his own death sentence through to completion. “You deserve to be happy, Kasanoda.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Tetsuya can feel Kasanoda’s gaze on him, can feel the weight of the other’s attention clinging to his downcast eyes, to the set of his mouth, to the tangle of his hair catching in the rush of the wind. He should look up, should offer a smile of reassurance, of friendly support in this; but he’s not sure he can, so he keeps his gaze down instead, keeps his expression deliberately neutral as the best defense he has against giving away that pain settling in like a knot tightening around his heart.

Finally Kasanoda lets his breath go, a long exhale so rough with force that Tetsuya doesn’t have to strain to hear it. “You really think I should confess to Fujioka?”

Tetsuya braces his shoulders, steadies his breathing. “I do.” When he lifts his head the movement is careful, the action deliberate; he’s sure, as his gaze meets Kasanoda’s, that there’s no trace of his own feelings behind his eyes, no indication of the heartache crushing against his breathing to tense the smile at his mouth to insincerity. “I think she’ll accept your feelings. You’d make a good match.”

Kasanoda doesn’t look convinced. He’s just watching Tetsuya, his forehead creased and lips drawing down on a frown like he’s struggling to make sense of the other’s words, or maybe like he just doesn’t hear them at all. Tetsuya can feel desperation spiking higher against his spine, can feel the need to finish this overwhelming even his unhappiness at the inevitable conclusion; this is worse even than the fact of the loss, he thinks, this slow, drawn-out suffering of waiting for the conclusion that seems like it will never come. He forces his smile to pull wider, forces amusement up his throat into a huff of laughter that he hopes sounds more sincere than it feels.

“Besides,” he says, and lets himself lean in sideways to bump his elbow against Kasanoda’s arm, to grin teasing at the other with all the friendly amusement he can muster. “You have to put that practice to good use, right?”

Tetsuya is expecting Kasanoda to laugh, maybe to color pink with embarrassment and duck into one of the soft-sweet smiles that always make Tetsuya’s heart hurt like he’s falling in love for the first time all over again. But Kasanoda goes crimson instead, his whole face lighting up into color like Tetsuya has never seen, and if he ducks his head it’s with his mouth going tight on a frown rather than the smile Tetsuya expected to win.

“Practice,” Kasanoda repeats. His hair is falling in front of his face, the wind catching to whip it in front of his features; Tetsuya can’t make out the details of his expression. “Right. For Fujioka-san.”

“Yeah,” Tetsuya says slowly, feeling his way into the conversation as if he’s inching his way out over rotten ice. “You’ll be fine now that you have a little experience.”

“Thanks to you,” Kasanoda says without lifting his head. “I basically owe it to you to confess now, huh?”

Tetsuya flinches. It hurts, to have such direct agency attributed to him, as if Kasanoda is asking him to own this as well, as if Kasanoda’s own recent misery is a direct result of Tetsuya’s silence on the matter. It would be easy to laugh this away, to push aside Kasanoda’s claim and therefore deny his own role in the situation; but Kasanoda is tipping his head to look at Tetsuya through the tangle of his hair, and his eyes are dark with focus, and Tetsuya can’t let himself cringe back from this, not if Kasanoda needs this support from him too.

He stops walking along the path, halting in the middle of the walkway so he can turn to face Kasanoda fully. Kasanoda stops at once, twisting to look at Tetsuya as if they’ve reached some unspoken cue between them to look at each other; they’re in the middle of the pathway, what would block traffic on another day, but with the chill of the oncoming storm rustling the leaves and tangling their hair there’s no one around, no one to be inconvenienced and no one to overhear this conversation, even when Tetsuya pitches his voice louder so there can be no mistake as to the meaning of his words.

“Yes,” he says, holding Kasanoda’s gaze without flinching, without ducking his head or looking away or even retreating into the softer edge of a smile. Kasanoda meets him stare-for-stare, his focus fully fixed on Tetsuya in front of him; Tetsuya can feel his skin prickle with a shiver that has nothing to do with the cut of the wind just from the awareness of that attention on him. “I want you to confess to Fujioka-san.”

Kasanoda’s lashes dip. “Today?”

“Today,” Tetsuya confirms. “After work. I’ll head home by myself so you don’t need to worry about me.” He takes a breath and offers the best smile he can find. “Call me after to let me know when you have yourself a girlfriend, okay?”

Kasanoda doesn’t smile at that either; but he does duck his head, tipping forward into a nod of surrender to Tetsuya’s words, and that’s good enough. Tetsuya lets his breath spill out of him in  a rush, lets the tension sag out of his shoulders; and by the time Kasanoda lifts his head to look up at him again Tetsuya is waiting with a smile on his lips, the expression warm with all the sincere affection he can find.

“Come on,” he says, and tips his head to indicate the path as he turns to continue walking. “We’ve only got half the break left. Let’s make the most of it.” And he sets himself to following his own advice in this, if in nothing else.


	9. Fair Weather

It starts raining during the last hour of Tetsuya’s shift.

He can see it start, can watch the speckled pattern of damp against the sidewalk outside darken and spread until it becomes uniform grey, until the wet of the droplets are splashing into tiny puddles instead of landing directly on the smooth of the pavement beneath them. There’s a rush of customers at the very beginning of the storm, as pedestrians from the street outside duck in to bemoan the inaccuracies of the weather report and to linger for the first five minutes in hopes of the downpour dissipating; but if the storm has arrived early it shows no signs of generosity when it comes to intensity, and fifteen minutes after the skies opened the plethora of hopeful visitors have given up and ducked back out to brave the wet on their way to their next stop. It’s silent after that, the inside of the shop quiet but for the soft rustling of Tetsuya’s coworkers unpacking inventory in the back, and by the time closing arrives Tetsuya’s mind has been outside the boundaries of work for almost a half-hour.

He doesn’t have an umbrella with him. The weather had predicted rain some four hours later, which ought to have given him plenty of time to make it home; but it hardly makes a difference in any case, Tetsuya tells himself. He has no plans this evening, nowhere he needs to go but home; he can let himself get as damp as he likes on his way back to his apartment without concern for how bedraggled he looks to the strangers who pass him by. Besides, the weather suits his mood; the weight of the grey sky overhead is a comfort of sorts for the ache in his chest, the drenching rain that soaks his hair and drips against the back of his neck feels like the tears he won’t let himself shed, and in the end he takes the long way home instead of catching a train or paying for a taxi, letting the rain run damp against his scalp and slowly soak through the shoulders of his jacket until it’s as heavy and clinging against him as his wet t-shirt.

Tetsuya wonders where Kasanoda is. Back at the flower shop, he hopes; he hopes neither Kasanoda nor Fujioka have noticed the rain, hopes that whatever awkwardness surely resulted from their conversation has eased into happiness for the both of them. His phone hasn’t rung with any kind of news, good or bad; Tetsuya is glad for the lack of bad, assumes that he’ll hear from Kasanoda later tonight or maybe tomorrow with confirmation of the good, once he’s had time to appreciate his own fortune in privacy. By then Tetsuya thinks he’ll even be able to muster sincere happiness on Kasanoda’s behalf, will be able to smile and laugh through whatever story will surely go along with the other’s confirmation; tomorrow he’ll press his own feelings down, lock them deep in the inside of his chest where they can be forgotten or at least ignored, where he can forget the feel of Kasanoda’s mouth on his and the sound of the other’s voice on the weight of that first tentative practice confession. It’ll be better this way, Tetsuya tells himself, everyone will be happier; but for now he’s alone, his hair wet and dripping against the back of his neck, and he thinks he can afford to let himself duck his head and be miserable for a little while.

It’s hard to keep his mind on what he’s doing. His focus is lost to his imagination, his attention playing over variations on Kasanoda’s confession, on Fujioka’s acceptance, on the tentative joy of the smile this would surely bring to Kasanoda’s mouth. There aren’t many other people out on the streets with the downpour, but after Tetsuya narrowly avoids collision for the second time he determines that he may be too distracted even to trust himself with forward movement, and ducks in to take shelter under the tiny overhang of a currently-closed shop. It doesn’t help much -- the wet still splashes his shoes, and Tetsuya is already soaked to the skin and shivering with the cold every time the wind blows -- but at least it keeps him out of the main path of pedestrians, and if he gets some strange looks for standing still in the middle of the storm no one cares enough to stop and ask why, which is as much as he could hope for under the circumstances.

Kasanoda will be happy, Tetsuya tells himself as he tips his head back against the storefront, as he lets himself slide down the wall to sit against the inch of curb running alongside the sidewalk without consideration for the effect it will have on his already wet pants. That’s the most important thing, more important even than Tetsuya’s contentment; because he was never going to be able to have what he wanted, not really, and it’s not fair to Kasanoda to hold him back from a happy ending just because Tetsuya’s story was doomed before it began. Kasanoda views him as a friend, as he always has; and Tetsuya has been content with that, Tetsuya _will_ be content with that, he will _make_ himself be satisfied with what relationship he can have. Kasanoda is a good man and a good friend; the fact that Tetsuya hungers for so much more than friendship can give is no more Kasanoda’s fault than it ought to be his problem. Tetsuya has left his feelings unspoken for years, now; he can continue to push them back, he’s good at it, it will be his own unrequited burden to bear. It can be done, he knows it can be; but at the moment he can’t help but shut his eyes to the grey of the sky overhead, and let his breathing catch on the hurt in his chest, and let himself feel the full agony of those feelings too-long unvoiced.

“Tetsuya?”

Tetsuya thinks, for a moment, that he’s imagining the voice. It would hardly be the first time his mind has offered him the impossible, has created the outline of something too exactly what he desires for it to ever be true. But there’s the sound of footsteps, wet shoes splashing into puddles against the pavement, and Tetsuya gasps a startled inhale and opens his eyes just as Kasanoda draws level with him.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda says again, and he’s holding out the umbrella clutched in one hand, offering cover made completely useless by Tetsuya’s already-soaked state. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Tetsuya stares up at Kasanoda for a moment, struggling to make any sense at all out of this moment. He must be dreaming, he must be caught in an exceptionally vivid daydream; but Kasanoda is breathing hard, his hair is windswept around his face and mottled with darker spots from the rain now falling against his head and shoulders with the absence of his umbrella, and Tetsuya can find no indication at all that he is anything other than absolutely real, unlikely though that conclusion seems.

“For me?” he finally manages, too startled by the current situation to offer anything but repetition of that most unlikely detail.

“Yeah.” Kasanoda is staring at Tetsuya’s face, his eyes dark against the dim illumination of the failing day; Tetsuya can’t make out any details of the other’s expression except for that attention, and some measure of relief at having succeeded in his apparent goal. “Since I left the flowershop.”

Tetsuya can feel his brows draw together, can feel confusion tripping his thought into incoherence until every word is a struggle to understand. “You left?” He blinks, trying hard to piece together the disparate details he’s taking in. “Why? I thought you and Fujioka-san were still there together.”

“No,” Kasanoda says. “I mean, she still is, I think. But I’m here.”

It’s an obvious statement. Tetsuya would laugh, in another circumstance. At the moment, though, all he can feel is confusion. He shakes his head. “Why?”

“To find you,” Kasanoda says immediately. “To talk to you.”

Tetsuya stares up at him. “I thought you were going to talk to Fujioka-san.”

“I was,” Kasanoda says. “I did.”

Tetsuya waits for a moment to see if anything else is forthcoming. It’s not. “What did she say?”

“No,” Kasanoda says. “She rejected me.” Tetsuya’s skin goes cold, his whole body curling in on itself with guilt for pushing Kasanoda into such unhappiness; but Kasanoda doesn’t _look_ unhappy. He looks alert, focused, more present in this moment than Tetsuya has seen him in days. “She laughed, actually, when I told her I was in love with her.”

Tetsuya recoils. “She _what_?”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, and apparently this was the right question to ask, because he’s talking now, his words picking up speed as they spill from his lips. “I confessed and she laughed at me. She thought I was joking, she said. She doesn’t like me, at least not romantically. She didn’t have any idea I was even interested in her, she said she--” He pauses for a breath, filling his lungs with a deep gasp as if bracing himself for a plunge into icy water. “She thought you and I were dating.”

Tetsuya’s whole world goes silent. For a moment he can’t even hear the patter of the raindrops hitting the sidewalk for the ringing shock in his ears; his lips are parted on silence, his eyes wide as he stares up at Kasanoda -- who’s still standing over him, still holding his umbrella over Tetsuya’s drenched hair while his own catches water enough to soak the crimson strands until they look nearly black.

“What?” Tetsuya manages, finally, the word faint and carried on breath he thinks he absorbs from the air more than consciously inhales.

“She thought we were dating,” Kasanoda says at once, as if this is the part Tetsuya is confused about, as if it’s not the entire story that Tetsuya’s mind is struggling to piece together. “She said you were obviously in love with me and that just because we had an argument was no reason to break up a good thing.”

Tetsuya stares up at Kasanoda. There are a million ways to reply to this, a thousand different pieces he could take issue with; and then he opens his mouth, and what comes out is “We didn’t have an argument,” as if that is somehow the most important fact to clarify.

“I know,” Kasanoda says. “I told her that. And that we’re...we’re not dating” as his cheeks go warm with color, as he ducks his head so the damp strands of his hair fall forward around his face. “But she said that you…” He stops, his words dying to silence in his throat; and then he lifts his head to bring his focus back to Tetsuya’s face all at once. “ _Are_ you in love with me, Tetsuya?”

Tetsuya is too cold to flush. It’s the only saving grace, he thinks, that the chill of the rain clinging to his skin saps the heat from his veins and keeps him from coloring as dark as the saturated color of Kasanoda’s hair; but that absence doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, in the end, or maybe it’s just his silence that answers for him clearly enough to blow Kasanoda’s eyes wide on understanding as he stares at Tetsuya sitting in front of him.

“Oh,” Kasanoda says. His voice sounds like a bell tolling in Tetsuya’s ears. “You. _Oh_.” He’s blinking fast, his lashes working hard over the dark focus in his eyes like he’s trying to bring the scattered fragments of his vision together. “Oh my god.” His hold on the umbrella in his hand is slipping, he’s staring at Tetsuya like he’s never seen him before; and Tetsuya can feel the whole reality of the situation sliding out of his control, like he’s watching a crash in slow motion with no sense of how to stop it.

“I didn’t,” he chokes out, forcing the words past his tight-knotted throat as his fingers curl into a fist at his side, as his shoulders hunch in as if to protect himself from a blow. “I didn’t want to--” _Tell you_ , is on his tongue, _I didn’t want you to know_ ; but it’s too late for that, Fujioka’s too-clear attention has seen the feelings behind Tetsuya’s gaze that Kasanoda’s own friendly familiarity always missed. Tetsuya ducks his head, gasps an inhale, pushes hard at the ground to struggle to his feet. “I should go.”

“ _No_ ,” Kasanoda blurts, and he’s stepping in as fast as Tetsuya stands, reaching out to clutch at the other’s arm with instinctive speed before Tetsuya can get his bearings on the other’s position. The motion brings him in close, underneath the cover of the umbrella still shedding the rain before it can touch Tetsuya’s soaked hair; Tetsuya freezes, his thoughts scattering in the face of Kasanoda’s abrupt proximity, his motion locked to stillness by the weight of the fingers pressing close against his arm.

“Don’t go,” Kasanoda says, sounding as intense on the command as if Tetsuya is still showing the least sign of moving. His damp hair is clinging to his forehead; his lashes are burdened with the wet of the rain that’s been running down his face. He stares at the other, his eyes blown dark in the minimal illumination and his mouth tense on uncertainty; his gaze flickers over Tetsuya’s expression, taking in the details of the other’s reaction in a single sweep while Tetsuya stares back, too undone by the moment to even think of composing himself.

Kasanoda’s eyes widen, his mouth falls open on a huff of surprise. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathes. “It really is true.” Tetsuya flinches back against the wall behind him, turns his head in a futile attempt to hide the giveaway hurt in his expression, but: “No,” Kasanoda says again, “no, don’t, Tetsuya, I didn’t know, I didn’t think that you…” His words trail off, his voice gives way; but it’s enough, it’s clear, there’s no chance of denial left, if there was ever any to begin with. Kasanoda’s hand is still close at Tetsuya’s arm, his fingers still pressing the weight of the other’s rain-soaked jacket against his skin; Tetsuya can’t run, he can’t pull away even if the order on Kasanoda’s voice weren’t as good as an unbreakable oath for him, even if he wouldn’t give up anything at all to satisfy whatever Kasanoda asks of him. So he does the only thing left to him, and he ducks his head, and he surrenders.

“I do,” he says, his voice soft but clear enough for Kasanoda to hear, as close as they are standing, so near Tetsuya can feel the heat of Kasanoda’s body radiating against the rain-chilled cool of his own. “I have. For years, I--” His throat closes up; he grimaces, forces himself into a swallow. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

Kasanoda’s exhale is warm at Tetsuya’s cheek. “I didn’t know.”

Tetsuya shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to know,” he manages. “I know I’m your friend, I wanted to keep that instead of scaring you off with a confession for feelings I knew were unrequited.” He huffs himself into an exhale, makes an attempt at a smile. “Guess that didn’t work out after all.”

“But…” Kasanoda sounds lost, like he can’t believe the words Tetsuya is saying. “You told me to confess to Fujioka-san.”

“You _like_ her,” Tetsuya says. “I want you to be happy. You’ve been so miserable this last week, I just...I don’t want you to be unhappy anymore.”

Kasanoda’s breath rushes out of him all at once, a gust of an exhale as if he’s been shocked. “Fuck,” he says, the word so soft it barely sounds like a curse at all. “You thought I was unhappy about Fujioka-san?” His fingers tighten against Tetsuya’s arm, his thumb slides in against the seam of the other’s jacket. “That’s not why I’ve been unhappy.”

 _Then what_ , Tetsuya wants to ask. _What is it if not Fujioka that’s been making you miserable since--_ and possibility strikes him like an electrical current, epiphany flaring out through him as if with heat enough to light all his blood to fire, and Tetsuya’s eyes come open at once as he lifts his head to stare at Kasanoda. Surely he must be misunderstanding, he must be imagining things, he can’t _possibly_...but Kasanoda is staring right back at him, his eyes dark and his mouth set, and Tetsuya’s whole body goes warm with the shivery self-awareness of his own suspicion, of a hope too bright and brilliant for him to let it form without evidence.

“I kissed you,” Kasanoda says, and Tetsuya’s skin flares to heat at the direct force of those words, at the statement neither of them has been willing to make directly since that night almost a week ago. “For practice, like you said, but I--” His cheeks flush, his skin coloring dark as his hair, dark as it was in the park earlier. Tetsuya feels dizzy with the force of this revelation, feels like he’s coming detached from reality, like it’s only Kasanoda’s grip at his arm bracing him in place.

“It’s all I’ve been able to think about,” Kasanoda says in a rush. “Not Fujioka at all. For days, Tetsuya,” as his hold at the other’s arm shifts into a shake to punctuate his words. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you _all the time_ , whenever I see you, whenever I’m at home, whenever I’m--” He stumbles for a moment, hesitation tripping at his tongue; but then: “In bed,” he forces out, hissing the words to heat in the space between his body and Tetsuya’s. Tetsuya doesn’t know what sound he makes -- something helpless, he thinks, a half-formed moan as all the blood in his body tries to fill his cock at once -- but Kasanoda is still talking, rushing over the words like he can’t stop his confession once begun. “Or in the shower. The living room, once, where we were on the floor when I kissed you. I’ve been wanting you so _bad_ , Tetsuya, and I thought you just wanted to be friends, that it was practice like you said and you didn’t care at all.”

“I care,” Tetsuya says, feeling like he’s drowning, certain that he’s dreaming, too caught in the grip of Kasanoda’s hand at his arm and Kasanoda’s gaze on his face to care. “I’ve always cared.”

“Fuck,” Kasanoda says again, breathing the word far in the back of his throat; and then his hold at Tetsuya’s arm eases, his hand sliding down the length of the other’s forearm and over the angle of his wrist. His touch weights at Tetsuya’s fingers for a moment; and then falls away and back to his side. Tetsuya would feel bereft, he thinks, lost without the force of Kasanoda’s hold to brace him steady; but Kasanoda is still staring at him, his eyes as dark as Tetsuya has ever seen them, and Tetsuya can’t find voice for any kind of protest with Kasanoda looking at him like that.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda says, his voice steady and clear and rumbling down in the lowest depths of his chest with sincerity. “I have something to say to you.”

Tetsuya can feel his forehead crease in confusion for a moment, perplexed by the sudden formality of Kasanoda’s tone; and then something slots into place, some set-aside memory fitting in against his awareness of the present moment, and he loses all the air from his lungs at once in a sudden, startled exhale. It takes him a moment to collect himself, a few frantic heartbeats before he can regain enough coherency for even a fumbling reply; but Kasanoda just watches him, his eyes dark and his focus set and his umbrella braced to perfect stillness over them both.

“Yes,” Tetsuya finally manages, all but gasping the word as his hands start to shake, as the back of his throat closes up on emotion. “I’m listening.”

Kasanoda’s lashes shift, just for a moment, flickering over the dark of his eyes. “I really like you.”

Tetsuya’s breath catches onto the start of a sob, he blinks hard to push back the heat threatening behind his eyes. “Oh,” he says, and he can’t help the hiccup of air in his throat, can’t help the tremor that thrums audibly under his words. “Kasanoda. I.” He gasps an inhale, filling his lungs as full as they will go before spilling words into the air. “I like you too.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Kasanoda says, and Tetsuya would swear his voice has never sounded so low, has never before carried such weight against the back of his throat. “Will you go out with me?”

Tetsuya has to duck his head, has to shut his eyes against the tears collecting at his lashes. It’s too much, it’s too impossible, it’s too exactly everything he’s ever wanted and never dared to expect, and he...and he knows exactly what to say.

“Yes,” he says, and he lifts his head, and lets his mouth go soft on a smile as helpless as the wet starting to trickle across his cheeks to join the shine of the rain at his skin. “Yes, Ritsu, I’ll go out with you.”

Kasanoda’s breath spills from his lips, his mouth drags up onto the sharp edge of a grin; but it’s only for a moment, only for a breath, and then his expression is steadying again, his mouth dropping back into the weight of intention once more.

“You know,” he says, and his voice is husky, now, the resonant certainty of before giving way to something rough and low in his chest, the bedrock of his vocal range dragging over the words as he offers them. He swallows. Tetsuya can see the shift of his throat on the motion. “Usually people...people kiss, once they’re dating.”

Tetsuya doesn’t have any words. His eyes are burning, his throat is tight; he can barely breathe as it is, any chance of speech is doomed before it begins. But Kasanoda is watching him, Kasanoda’s full attention is fixed on his face; and so Tetsuya blinks, and lets his gaze slide away from the other’s eyes to land at the set line of his mouth instead. Kasanoda makes a noise somewhere far in the back of his throat; and then he’s stepping in, and his hand is coming up to brace at the back of Tetsuya’s neck, and Tetsuya turns his head up and shuts his eyes just as Kasanoda’s mouth presses against the rain-wet part of his own lips.

After a few minutes the weight of the umbrella tips it off-center as Kasanoda’s attention to it gives way, but it’s much longer before either of them notice the loss.


	10. In Bloom

They make it back to Tetsuya’s apartment eventually. This is less a function of any kind of deliberate thought or discussion between them and more a matter of which of their homes is closer; with several blocks or the delay of a train ride to get to Kasanoda’s, Tetsuya’s is infinitely preferable, even with the distance still left to travel. They can make it in ten minutes from where they’re stopped alongside the edge of the main street; it’s a testament to their mutual distraction, Tetsuya thinks, that it’s almost a half hour before they even make any attempt to continue on their way. By the time they do Kasanoda is as soaked through as Tetsuya from the steady weight of the rain left to drip through their clothes and into their hair with the absence of the forgotten umbrella, until finally Tetsuya manages to work himself around into enough coherency to offer a suggestion of ‘getting out of these wet clothes’ coupled with a smile that he hopes carries some measure of his own enthusiasm for the idea. It does, if the dip of Kasanoda’s lashes over his gaze is any indication, and from there it’s a brief process to disentangle themselves enough to replace the umbrella over them for the few blocks remaining to Tetsuya’s apartment. They don’t hold hands, don’t lean in for the relief of another kiss at the risk of scandalizing the few passersby still out in the downpour; but Tetsuya can feel the thrum of anticipation building in every fiber of his body with each forward step they take, until by the time they’re moving past the front gate of his apartment building and making for the stairs he’s struggling for air around the adrenaline winding tight in him.

Kasanoda doesn’t say anything, either while they’re making their way down the street or climbing the stairs to Tetsuya’s apartment or getting the door open, with Tetsuya fumbling with the keys and Kasanoda still bearing the weight of the umbrella in spite of the overhang that covers the apartment walkway. Tetsuya wonders, as the weight of his lock comes open, if Kasanoda doesn’t regret this, if maybe he hasn’t changed his mind with the chill of the storm to strip the heat from his skin; but he’s only just pulling the door open when Kasanoda lifts a hand to skim the back of Tetsuya’s neck, his fingers catching to slide across rain-damp skin, and Tetsuya shudders helplessly to the force of the friction. Kasanoda’s not cold; he’s warm, he’s _hot_ , his skin feels like fire and electricity against the top of Tetsuya’s spine, and Tetsuya can feel his entire body trying to tip back into the contact, as if Kasanoda’s touch is a magnet for the iron in his blood.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda breathes, his voice dropping into that rough, husky tone again, and Tetsuya closes his mouth on the whimper at his lips and steps forward into the entryway of his apartment before he loses track, again, of what he’s meant to be doing. Kasanoda follows hard at his heels, crowding into the tiled space just in front of the door without waiting for Tetsuya to so much as turn around; it makes Tetsuya wonder, distantly, if he isn’t just as electric-appealing to Kasanoda’s awareness, if the other isn’t feeling the need to get closer as sharply as Tetsuya is. The idea makes him smile, happiness spiking to dizzy heights against the inside of his chest; and then they’re both inside, and Tetsuya is reaching for the lightswitch while Kasanoda pulls the door shut behind them. Illumination floods the space, the warm yellow of home lighting them up from dripping hair to waterlogged shoes; and then Tetsuya is dropping his keys, and Kasanoda is dropping his umbrella, and they’re both reaching out for each other as fast as they can move in closer.

Kasanoda’s hands are warm against Tetsuya’s skin. They land at the sides of the other’s neck, his fingers curling in to press heat underneath the wet of Tetsuya’s jacket collar, his thumbs sliding up to brace against the bottom edge of the other’s jaw; but Tetsuya is reaching out too, settling one hand in to hold close at the back of Kasanoda’s head and urge the other’s mouth down atop his own while the other finds out the open edge of Kasanoda’s coat so he can work it down and off the other’s shoulder. Everything they are wearing is soaked through, burdened with the weight of extra water and dripping all over the tile of Tetsuya’s front entryway; but Tetsuya doesn’t care and barely even notices the uncomfortable cling of his shirt sticking to his chest as he moves. Far more important is getting Kasanoda’s coat off his shoulders, and tugging up at the hem of the other’s shirt to peel it off his skin, and pressing his hands in close against the radiant heat of Kasanoda’s bare chest as quickly as Tetsuya can manage to get himself there.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda gasps against Tetsuya’s mouth, but it’s not a protest; he’s letting his hold on Tetsuya go so the other can shove his jacket off to drop to the floor, is shuddering into heat at Tetsuya’s hands sliding up under his shirt rather than retreating. He takes initiative of his own as he reaches back out for Tetsuya, struggling with the zipper of the other’s coat until Tetsuya frees a hand so he can reach up and yank it down with more speed than ceremony. His coat follows Kasanoda’s as fast as he can get the weight free of his shoulders and the cuffs loose of his hands, and no sooner has he shed his topmost layer than Kasanoda’s hands are fitting at his hips, Kasanoda’s thumbs are dipping to catch under the stick of Tetsuya’s shirt to his skin and strip it up and off. Tetsuya lifts his arms without being told, ducking his head to let Kasanoda tug his shirt free of his skin; and then he’s drawing his hands away from the fabric, and lifting his chin to look back up at Kasanoda, and Kasanoda is staring at him, Tetsuya’s wet shirt still caught in his hands and his whole expression wide-open on utterly unabashed appreciation.

“Tetsuya,” he says, sounding like the name is being pulled free from him by the force of his appreciation, as if it’s as easy to rise to his lips as the air he’s breathing by reflex. “You are so _beautiful_.”

Tetsuya can feel his face go hot, can feel his shoulders tense with strange, unfamiliar self-consciousness. He can feel the ink laid into his bare arms and over his shoulders like a touch, like it’s rising to the forefront of his awareness in answer to the breathless appreciation of Kasanoda’s words; and Kasanoda is still staring at him, his eyes wide and lips parted on that first unthinking compliment. It feels strange, to feel so marked and so bare at one and the same time; Tetsuya has to struggle to find air for his next breath, has to reach to find his way back to the coherent response Kasanoda’s statement deserves.

“I’m not the only one,” he says, and takes advantage of Kasanoda’s momentary distraction to reach out and slide his fingers up under the weight of the other’s wet shirt still clinging to his skin. Kasanoda blinks, his single-minded focus startled away by his obvious confusion at this statement; and then he laughs, a rough outline of amusement at the back of his throat as he lifts his arms and dips his head in surrender to the pull of Tetsuya’s hold at his clothes.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says as he emerges from the neckline, shaking the wet of his hair back from his face so he can meet Tetsuya’s gaze once more. “Anyone who saw us together would think you’d gone blind to spend your time with someone who looks like I do.”

“I _like_ the way you look,” Tetsuya says with aggressive certainty, frowning to underscore his words as he tugs his own shirt free of Kasanoda’s hold and lets them both drop to the tile beneath them. “You’re not nearly as unattractive as you always think you are.”

Kasanoda huffs a laugh that sounds more skeptical than otherwise, but he’s reaching out to touch gentle fingers against Tetsuya’s waist, where the curl of tattoos winds up and against the lowest curve of his ribs, and Tetsuya is stepping in without hesitating either, pressing his palm against Kasanoda’s chest and letting his touch slide up and over the shift of muscle in the line of the other’s shoulder. Kasanoda sighs an exhale, the sound loud with how close his lips are to Tetsuya’s hair, and lets his hand slide around to the layers of ink marking out the line of Tetsuya’s spine. “You know people think I have a scary face.”

“ _I_ don’t,” Tetsuya tells him, winding his arms around Kasanoda’s neck and letting his weight curve forward to press against the support of the other’s chest, to let the radiance of bare skin press close to bare skin. Kasanoda’s fingers tighten against him to pull him closer. “No one who knows you thinks you’re scary, Ritsu.”

Kasanoda huffs. “What about those people who _don’t_ know me?”

“They don’t matter,” Tetsuya tells him, shutting his eyes to savour the feeling of Kasanoda’s hand tracing up the line of his back, the weight of the other’s touch dragging close against the dark whorls of color and pattern Tetsuya knows shift across his shoulders with every flex of his body. The air between them is hot and humid from the damp clinging to their skin and their dropped clothes; Tetsuya fills his lungs with it like he’s breathing desire directly into his body. “They’re the same kind of people who think I’m a gang member because of my tattoos.”

Kasanoda coughs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s close enough to agreement to soothe the edge of defensive affection in Tetsuya’s chest, to ease the strain of his body so he can lean the full force of his weight against Kasanoda’s support. Kasanoda is still touching the patterns on his back, dragging his fingertips against the lines with such care that Tetsuya’s whole body prickles with every shift the other takes; it makes him feel like he’s coming alight, like his blood is going to incandescence under the drag of Kasanoda’s touch.

“We make a good pair,” Kasanoda says abruptly, like he’s come to a decision in himself and is ready to make a declaration of it. “You and me.”

“Mm,” Tetsuya hums against his shoulder. “You with your intimidating face and me with my intimidating tattoos?”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says. “Like we’re in a gang just the two of us.”

“Yes,” Tetsuya agrees immediately. “With you as the young leader and me as your kept woman.”

Kasanoda snorts. “I think you might be a better leader than I would be.”

“Of course,” Tetsuya says, drawing back to smile up at Kasanoda as imagination expands the idea into the realm of a fantasy, filling in details with more invention than realism. “I’d be the shadow leader, of course, secretly guiding your actions from the bedroom.”

Kasanoda’s gaze on his face is soft, his smile is easy. Tetsuya thinks he’d do away with all his insistence on how terrifying his face is, if he could see him the way Tetsuya sees him now. “You’d probably be pretty good at it.”

Tetsuya smiles. “Maybe,” he allows; and then, as fantasy dissolves into the immediate demands of reality, as the shift of his body reminds him of the weight of damp still clinging to his legs: “Maybe we should head there now.”

Kasanoda blinks. “What?”

“To the bedroom,” Tetsuya clarifies, feeling his face go warm and his blood go hot. “If you want to, that is.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kasanoda says, so fast and so intensely that Tetsuya’s face heats even as his smile slips wide on the pleasure of the other’s quick agreement. Kasanoda shuts his mouth tight, his eyes going wide with the start of embarrassment as his own cheeks color to scarlet. “I mean. Uh. If you don’t mind.”

Tetsuya shakes his head. There’s pressure like laughter at the inside of his chest but he doesn’t feel like laughing; he feels like he’s going to lift off the ground, like there’s too much anticipation building bright in him for him to possibly contain it all within the fragile structure of his body. “No,” he says, and takes a breath in a futile attempt to steady the rush of his heart and the thrum of his awareness. “I don’t mind.”

Kasanoda lets a breath out at once, a huff like he’s actually surprised by this agreement. It’s endearing, as so much about him always is; Tetsuya is gusting through an exhale of appreciation even as Kasanoda ducks his head to consider the weight of his pants. “Okay. Yeah. Should we…” His cheeks color, his head dips down. “Do you want me to leave my pants here on the tile?”

Tetsuya takes a breath, lets it out slowly. It doesn’t help the pound of his heart racing in his chest, but at least it makes him feel a little more grounded. “Yes,” he says, and draws back from Kasanoda’s hold, not without a pang of regret at losing the heat of the contact; but his clothes are uncomfortable, the weight of his shoes and the damp catch of his pants both, and much though he’s appreciating being held by Kasanoda in his entryway he thinks he’d far prefer to have the soft of his bed under them and far less in the way of clothing between. “We can clean things up later” and he’s suiting actions to words without waiting for Kasanoda to take the lead, ducking his head so he can struggle through forcing the rain-heavy denim of his jeans free of the button holding the clothing over his hips while he toes his shoes free.

It feels strange to strip himself so completely and so casually -- Kasanoda’s seen him with less on before, in the baths they sometimes visit or in the locker rooms when they were still at school, but it’s different now, from the heat flushing Tetsuya hard against the thin of his briefs if nothing else -- but Tetsuya continues without hesitating, even as his face starts to go hot with self-consciousness. His shoes comes off, his socks slipping with them from the weight of rain that has soaked them through, and he steps free of his pants as quickly, trying not to pay too much attention to the way the warm air of his apartment is ghosting across his bare skin to dry the cool wet of the rain against him and raise goosebumps in the wake of its motion. His briefs are too tight, Tetsuya is sure, clinging to begin with and almost translucent with the wet that has soaked in at the hips and against the top edge of the waistband; but then he straightens, and sees Kasanoda just kicking his foot free of his own jeans, and whatever self-consciousness he had dies to breathless appreciation instead.

Tetsuya has known for a long time what Kasanoda looks like all but naked. He’s had plenty of opportunity, after all, and if he has made a point to not stare that doesn’t stop him from being aware of the shift of the other’s shoulders or the dip of his waist leading down to his hips. But this is different, when Tetsuya all but has permission to watch the flex of muscle against the curve of Kasanoda’s spine as he tugs a sock free, to stare at the tension running along the strong length of the other’s thigh. He’s wearing boxers rather than Tetsuya’s more clinging briefs, but it hardly makes a difference; as he straightens the shift of his body draws the thin fabric close against the front of his hips, where the angle of the cloth tenting over his length leaves no doubt at all to his own arousal. His skin is flushed, pink across his shoulders and spreading down over the shift of his breathing in his chest; his nipples are drawn taut against the pale color circling them, like they’re deliberately trying to draw Tetsuya’s attention. Tetsuya’s lashes dip, a shudder runs through his whole body; and he’s suddenly very, very sure he has to get Kasanoda into the bedroom as rapidly as possible if he doesn’t want to find himself coming all across his couch in short order.

“Right,” Tetsuya says, his voice dropping down into a range he didn’t know he could hit, a weight of resonance on the back of his tongue he’s never heard from himself before. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, his voice almost a perfect match for Tetsuya’s own, and Tetsuya turns without looking at the other to lead the way farther into his apartment. He can feel the shift of his shoulders as he walks, imagines he can feel Kasanoda’s gaze following the motion of color and ink against his skin; the thought heats self-consciousness in his cheeks as much as it flushes harder at his cock, until by the time he’s pushing open the door to the bedroom and stepping into the familiar space he thinks he’s a few breathless seconds out from coming just for the weight of a hand or a knee or a thigh pressing against him. His whole body is hot, his skin prickling all-over with anticipation until there’s no more than a flicker of self-consciousness as he pauses at the foot of the bed and reaches to hook his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. He intends to push them down at once, to strip himself bare for Kasanoda’s consideration before his embarrassment or arousal either one have had a chance to overwhelm him; but there’s a huff from behind him, a noise too clearly protest to be mistaken for anything else, and a pair of footsteps coming so fast Kasanoda is pressing close against Tetsuya’s spine before he’s done more than slide his fingers under the edge of the elastic clinging to his hips.

“Let me,” Kasanoda says, his voice low and so hot against Tetsuya’s ear Tetsuya almost flinches with it, thinks he would if he weren’t so busy leaning into it and melting back against the support of Kasanoda behind him. Kasanoda’s hands close at Tetsuya’s wrists, draw up to urge the other’s touch free of his clothes; and Tetsuya lets himself be urged, lifts his hands obediently free to make space for Kasanoda to fit his palms against the angle of the other’s waist and slide his touch down to the dip of Tetsuya’s hips against his briefs. Kasanoda’s thumbs dig in hard against Tetsuya’s skin, his touch electric at every point of contact; and then he’s pushing down, his touch urging Tetsuya’s clothing down and free of the other’s body, and Tetsuya has to shut his eyes against the surge of arousal that hits him at the feel of Kasanoda stripping him to bare skin. The elastic of his briefs catches at the head of his cock, the weight of the fabric tugging against the flushed-sensitive skin; for a single mad heartbeat Tetsuya wonders if he isn’t going to come right here, if he won’t shudder himself into orgasm just from the friction of Kasanoda’s hands drawing his clothing down and off his body. But then the elastic slides free, the drag of friction easing and pulling away, and Tetsuya gasps a breath against the surge of self-consciousness that hits him at the hard heat of his cock being laid bare for Kasanoda’s attention. His legs are shaking, his cheeks are hot; and then “ _God_ ,” Kasanoda breathes, his hands shifting to press close against the outside of Tetsuya’s thighs and his voice dropping low with appreciation. “You’re so _beautiful_.”

“Fuck,” Tetsuya says, the word clear and crisp and heavy on his tongue; and then Kasanoda draws a hand away from his thigh, his arm curving around the other instead, and as his fingers glance against the heat of Tetsuya’s length Tetsuya’s entire body arches up, his spine curving and hips flexing to buck him up for the friction of Kasanoda’s touch against him. Kasanoda makes a shocked sound, surprise warring with arousal at his tongue; but Tetsuya is straining up for more, is reaching up to shove a hand against Kasanoda’s hair, to wind his fingers into a fist against the rain-damp strands. “ _Ritsu_.”

“You look so good,” Kasanoda says against his ear, the words too startled into heat for them to carry any kind of intentional seduction, anything other than the honest appreciation so clear in the reverent weight of Kasanoda’s fingers against Tetsuya’s cock. “Tetsuya, oh my god, you are _so_ \--” and his hips come forward, his body rocking in against the strain of the other’s with a force Tetsuya suspects to be as involuntary as the moan that forms at the back of Kasanoda’s throat.

“Ritsu,” Tetsuya says again, the other’s name coming too easily to his lips, as if having once given voice to the heated drag of the syllables he’s given up his ability to remain silent, has lost all control over what sounds spill up his throat and over the shift of his tongue. “Please, more, I want--” as Kasanoda’s fingers catch at the head of his cock, as his whole body strains with sudden, startling heat. “ _Fuck_.”

“What do you want?” Kasanoda’s voice is rough against Tetsuya’s ear; he sounds almost angry, like he’s gaining frustration with the heat in his veins, but Tetsuya knows that tone too well to mistake it for anything but the near-panic it is in truth. “Tell me, Tetsuya, I’ll give you anything.”

“Touch me,” Tetsuya says, as breathless with desperation as if Kasanoda’s hands aren’t already bracing flush against his skin, as if Kasanoda isn’t already pulling him back to hold him steady against the drag of the other’s hand against him. “Please, just--” as Kasanoda’s fingers curl tentatively around him, as Tetsuya’s whole body tries to arch up to thrust against the resistance. “ _God_.”

“Like this?” Kasanoda asks. His fingers are digging in hard at Tetsuya’s hip, his fingernails catching at the other’s skin; Tetsuya thinks he may be picking up bruises from the weight of them, finds he doesn’t care at all. “Do you want this?”

“I do,” Tetsuya says, because it’s true, he can hardly claim anything different when he’s all but fucking up against Kasanoda’s hand, but: “More,” he says, and angles his hips back to press against the tented front of Kasanoda’s boxers, to grind himself flush against the resistance of the other’s length. Kasanoda makes a raw noise in his throat, something low and almost violent with want, and when his hips come forward it’s with force, pressure enough to pin the layer of fabric between their bodies tight against both of them. Tetsuya can feel the length of Kasanoda’s cock against him, can feel the heat and weight of it pressing hard against the curve of his ass; and his breathing gives way, and his self-consciousness dissolves, and he’s speaking, he’s begging, all his composure is disintegrating into the haze of want that is sweeping out to eclipse his awareness.

“Ritsu,” as Kasanoda’s grip strokes up over him, his hold still uncertain but tightening in answer to Tetsuya’s gasps, as if he’s learning as quickly in this as he did that first night with his mouth so warm and rough against Tetsuya’s. “More, please, I want you inside me, I _need_ you, _please_.”

“Oh,” Kasanoda says, sounding as winded as if Tetsuya had punched him. “I don’t--like this?” with a forward tilt of his hips to demonstrate, to grant the weight of implication to his words.

“Yes,” Tetsuya says. “Or your fingers, or your tongue, I don’t care, I just want to feel you.”

Kasanoda makes a low sound, like he’s lost his grasp on the concept of breathing and can do nothing but let the air from his lungs spill out of him at once. “My _tongue_?”

“Yes,” Tetsuya says, unable to compose himself enough to undo the sincerity of those words; but he can feel himself going red with self-consciousness, with the awareness of blurting too-much honesty for what is, after all, the first time he’s had Kasanoda in his bedroom like this. “It doesn’t matter, really, I just want--”

“I want that too,” Kasanoda blurts, and Tetsuya’s words die at his lips, even the force of the heat running through his body going still for the first moment of shock at this wholly unexpected admission. “With you.” His fingers tighten at Tetsuya’s hip, his hold draws the other back against him; Tetsuya can feel the weight of Kasanoda’s cock pressing flush to his skin, can feel the heat of it like a promise to underscore the sincerity of the other’s words. “If you want.”

Tetsuya has to close his mouth, has to deliberately swallow to find enough moisture at his tongue for the agreement he wants to give. “I do,” he manages finally. “I do want that.” He lets himself lean backwards, lets himself go slack against the support of Kasanoda’s body behind him; Kasanoda makes a low sound in the depths of his chest, rocks his hips forward again in a reflexive response, and Tetsuya turns his head against Kasanoda’s shoulder, tipping sideways until his lips are almost skimming the damp strands of the other’s hair falling around his face. “Let’s.”

Tetsuya can feel the rumble of Kasanoda’s laugh against the inside of the other’s chest, can piece together the framework of Kasanoda’s nervous amusement from the vibration as much as from the tensing of the fingers at his hip and the hold against his cock. “Yeah,” Kasanoda says, “okay,” and Tetsuya’s whole body goes hot with anticipation, with the force of that agreement rushing through him just in premise. It’s like having everything he’s ever wanted come true at once; Kasanoda behind him, Kasanoda’s bare skin pressing close against his own, and the promise of one of Tetsuya’s favorite fantasies coming to life between them just for his asking.

“Good,” Tetsuya says, and straightens from his backwards lean with some exertion of effort in the motion. Kasanoda leans in to follow him, like his body is helplessly drawn to be nearer to Tetsuya’s; but when Tetsuya reaches for Kasanoda’s wrist the other lets his hold go at once, lets his hands fall away from Tetsuya’s body to leave the other free to slide his briefs the rest of the way down his legs and step free of the fabric. It would be a source of self-consciousness, if they had moved apart earlier; but all Tetsuya can think about now is what is to come, the satisfaction of imagination made real approaching closer with every breath he takes, and when he moves it’s to step in towards the bed without hesitating over the display he’s making of himself for Kasanoda’s view. He drops to his knees at the edge of the mattress, leans forward to lower himself over the sheets; and behind him Kasanoda makes a desperate noise, like he’s struggling for air he can’t get. Tetsuya pauses over the sheets, twisting to look back over his shoulder; and Kasanoda is staring at him, still standing in the middle of the floor where Tetsuya left him, his lips parted and eyes dark and whole expression wiped clear into breathless, disbelieving appreciation. It makes Tetsuya’s skin go hot, to see how reverent Kasanoda’s gaze on him is; but Kasanoda is taking a breath before Tetsuya can speak, before the other has any chance to find words to draw Kasanoda in closer to him again.

“This isn’t fair,” Kasanoda says, and he’s reaching for his boxers before Tetsuya can more than blink confusion at this apparent non-sequitur. He gets his thumbs under the waistband, curls his hands in against the top edge; and then he’s pushing the clothing down and off his hips, and Tetsuya only has the chance to hiss a shocked inhale before the clothing is falling to lay Kasanoda bare to his view. There’s the shift of muscle in his thighs, the curve of his ass barely visible as he tips forward to push his boxers down his ankles and off his feet; but mostly it’s his cock that’s holding Tetsuya’s attention, the dark length of it curving up from the curling dark of the hair colored with a hint of the red that makes Kasanoda’s appearance so immediately striking. His balls are heavy against the strain of his thigh, his shaft is thick and visibly darker than the rest of his body; the head is swollen with heat, flushed to greater width even than the rest of him where it’s nearly brushing his stomach. Tetsuya’s lashes dip, his whole body shudders on the rush of heat that hits him; and then Kasanoda is straightening, and coming forward, as oblivious to the effect he has on Tetsuya as ever.

“There,” he says, and he’s flushed to embarrassed red, Tetsuya realizes, when he manages to pull his gaze up to the other’s face. “Now we’re even.”

“Right,” Tetsuya says, a little breathlessly, feeling like Kasanoda has just gained the upper hand in far more ways than he realizes. He wants Kasanoda’s hands at his hips, wants Kasanoda to bear him down to the sheets under him and press the solid heat of his cock against him, wants to feel the stretch and ache of that weight sliding deep into his body; but he wants Kasanoda’s mouth, too, wants the softer push of the other’s tongue dipping into him as if to taste him from the inside out, and in the end Tetsuya ducks his head and turns himself down against the sheets without giving voice to the helpless desperation that so gripped him for a moment.

“Okay,” Kasanoda says behind him, his voice shaking in his obvious effort to steady himself. His hand at Tetsuya’s skin is startling more for the jolt of electricity it sends through the other’s body than anything else; Tetsuya can’t help but tense with the weight of it, can’t help but whimper reaction at the heat of Kasanoda’s palm so close against his skin. Kasanoda jerks back at once, panic overriding rationality; but “No,” Tetsuya is saying, while his spine is still curving into involuntary tension, “no, like that, please” and Kasanoda is reaching back out, obedient to Tetsuya’s command even if his touch is tentative and uncertain. Tetsuya shudders as Kasanoda’s hand slides up his skin, his cock twitches as Kasanoda’s touch skirts the edge of decency and then slides up and over; and then Kasanoda’s fingers are reaching out against the curve of his ass, and Tetsuya would swear he’s never felt more alive in all his life.

“Here,” he manages, struggling to think clearly beyond wanting more, closer, wanting to feel Kasanoda over him and against him and inside him, to take the heat of the other’s body as permanently into himself as his skin has taken the ink of his tattoos. “You’ll need lube” and he’s reaching up overhead, lifting his head from the sheets so he can see what he’s doing as he fumbles for the drawer in the nightstand alongside his bed. It’s a simple motion, one he’s managed more than once without looking when it was just himself against the tangle of his sheets and just his own hands hot against his skin; but it’s different like this, with Kasanoda’s attention pinned to the shift of his shoulders as he reaches far forward for the drawer, with the shivering awareness of where this will lead in his fingertips as he closes his hold around the bottle. He retrieves it without bothering to close the drawer, twists against the sheets so he can offer the bottle back to Kasanoda behind him; and Kasanoda is staring at him again, his eyes wide and mouth set onto focus so intent it looks almost like a frown. It’s enough to make Tetsuya hesitate, to ease back some of the rampant desire coursing through him; but he doesn’t pull back his offer of the bottle, just keeps holding it out while he blinks and brings back his awareness of how to speak.

“Ritsu?” Kasanoda blinks, coherency visibly coming back to his eyes, and Tetsuya lets himself smile, lets his mouth pull up at the corner into a curve as much as a question as encouragement. “You okay?”

Kasanoda looks down at the bottle in Tetsuya’s hand, his forehead creasing with attention as his cheeks flush darker with color. He ducks his head into a nod, the motion rough and hasty, but: “Yeah,” is what he says, as he lifts his hand away from Tetsuya’s skin to accept the bottle and ducks down to frown attention at the process of opening it. “Would you--” He pauses, his frown deepening as his face colors, as he maneuvers himself into clarity for whatever he’s going to say; Tetsuya waits, unable to guess what Kasanoda is aiming for and unwilling to interrupt the focus of the other’s expression. Finally Kasanoda huffs an exhale and pushes the lid of the bottle in his hands open like punctuation. “Would you mind taking your hair down?”

Tetsuya can feel his whole face go warm with something between self-consciousness and pleasure. The weight of his hair at the back of his head pushes forward in his awareness, the distant pull of his ponytail bringing itself to the forefront of his attention with the suggestion of Kasanoda’s words. He has to duck his head to find a moment to compose himself, and his head is still bowed when he manages “Sure,” as he reaches up to curl his fingers in underneath the elastic of the hairtie holding the length of his hair back and up into its usual ponytail. The elastic slides free, the rain-damp of his hair slides loose to fall into waves across his shoulders, and Tetsuya reaches out to set his hairtie against the top of the nightstand before pushing the still-open drawer shut. “I didn’t know you liked it.”

“Of course I like it,” Kasanoda says, his voice almost harsh for how fast his answer comes. There’s a shift of the bed behind Tetsuya, the weight of a knee pressing down against the soft of the sheets between his legs, and his whole body goes taut on sudden anticipation even in the moment before Kasanoda’s hand settles against the angle of his hip, his palm just over the edge of suggestion against the soft rise of Tetsuya’s ass under his touch. Tetsuya ducks his head down against the sheets below him, takes a breath that feels like raw heat in his lungs; and then Kasanoda’s fingers brush against him, the cool slick of the other’s touch weighting against hot skin.

“You have beautiful hair,” Kasanoda says, still in that gruff tone better suited for insults than compliments; Tetsuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything so flattering in all his life. “I’ve always thought so.” Kasanoda’s fingers are sliding down, drawing wet against Tetsuya’s body as the friction dips lower, as it draws closer, closer, right to the edge; and then he’s there, his touch is pressing against Tetsuya’s entrance, and Tetsuya loses the whole of the air filling his lungs in one breathless gust of anticipation. Kasanoda exhales over him, the sound so hot Tetsuya can feel it like a touch; and then he pushes, all at once, and his finger slides past Tetsuya’s rim and into his body.

It’s too much, Tetsuya thinks. It would be too rough if it were anyone else; Kasanoda’s movement is unsure, is faster than Tetsuya usually takes with himself, uncertainty making his motion forceful with haste. But Tetsuya is coming alight, is coming alive, it’s like Kasanoda’s touch is awakening parts of his body that he barely knew existed before; and when his chest flexes on sound it’s on the shape of a moan instead of the protest of a whine as his body tightens in helpless, convulsive want around the resistance of Kasanoda inside him.

“Holy fuck,” Kasanoda blurts, the words coming too fast from his lips to allow for any trace of insincerity on his tone. “ _Tetsuya_.”

“More,” Tetsuya says against the bed, pressing his forehead hard against the sheets as his shoulders flex, as he tries to resist the urge to push himself backwards for more against Kasanoda’s fingers. “Keep going.”

“Fuck,” Kasanoda says again, breathless and incoherent, and he pushes in deeper without drawing back, letting his touch sink farther into Tetsuya’s body. Tetsuya whimpers again, the reaction as unintended as it is unstoppable, and behind him Kasanoda groans far in the back of his throat and tightens his grip on Tetsuya’s hip. “You’re so _tight_.” He sounds reverent again, as if he’s never seen Tetsuya before, as if Tetsuya is becoming something greater than he has ever been before just from the pressure of Kasanoda’s touch inside him, and Tetsuya thinks he could live the rest of his life happy just to have once heard Kasanoda sound like that.

“Keep going,” he says again, and he’s tipping up, now, his arms bracing against the sheets as his knees slide higher to tilt his hips up, to make an offering of himself. “Please. Just like you are.”

“Okay,” Kasanoda says, and he does, drawing his finger back and sliding in with more of that startling force that Tetsuya doesn’t want him to ease. Every forward motion jolts heat up the length of his spine, every drag of Kasanoda’s touch inside him flares sparks to blind his vision and steal his coherency; and Tetsuya thinks maybe this is enough after all, maybe the weight of Kasanoda’s fingers working him open will be satisfying all by itself. They have more than just tonight, after all; they have hours even just this evening, surely if Tetsuya comes around Kasanoda’s fingers now they’ll have plenty of time to collect themselves back for at least a second round. The idea makes Tetsuya’s stomach drop, flares such heat into his veins that he can feel his balls drawing up against the base of his cock, like the thought of the future alone is enough to draw his orgasm out of him; and then Kasanoda slides his touch back and out of Tetsuya all at once, and Tetsuya is left to gasp against the sudden loss while Kasanoda takes a deep breath behind him.

“Okay,” he says, and there’s a weight on that one word, enough to shudder down the whole of Tetsuya’s spine with premonition for what’s to come. “I’m going to do it.”

Tetsuya takes a breath, curls his fingers in against the sheets under him, tries to steady the desperate pounding of his heart. “I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Kasanoda’s slick fingers slide across Tetsuya’s hip, his hands bracing against the other’s body as the bed shifts with his movement; Tetsuya wants to look back, wants to watch Kasanoda kneeling between his open legs and looking at the trembling expanse of his body, but he isn’t sure he dares, isn’t sure he trusts himself with the visual. Kasanoda’s hands slide against him, the other’s grip made slick and uncertain by the liquid spilled over his fingers and the curve of his palm; but he still braces his thumbs against Tetsuya’s skin with enough traction to draw the other open for his gaze. Tetsuya’s thighs flex, his body shuddering with the involuntary desire to retreat, to pull forward and away from the too-much intimacy of Kasanoda’s eyes on him; but Kasanoda makes a raw sound in the depths of his throat, arousal so obvious in the noise Tetsuya doesn’t have to see his cock flush the harder with want, and then he’s ducking in, and his mouth is on Tetsuya, and all Tetsuya’s thoughts blow out of him in the first full-throated moan of reaction he gives.

Kasanoda’s mouth is hotter than his fingers. Tetsuya thinks he’s never felt anything so warm in all his life; his whole body is shivering with electricity just from the contact of the other’s lips against sensitive skin aching for pressure. Kasanoda presses the wet of a kiss against Tetsuya, his mouth catching damp against the lube left by his touch; and then his thumbs dig in harder against the give of Tetsuya’s ass, and Tetsuya can hear him take a breath as if to brace himself, and then his tongue is dragging against Tetsuya’s entrance. Tetsuya jerks forward, not sure if he’s trying to flinch away from the overwhelming sensation jolting up his spine or if he’s trying to buck forward in reflexive attempt to seek out traction for his cock to press against; but Kasanoda’s hands are tight against him, the grip of the other’s fingers more than enough to brace him to stillness, and Kasanoda is pressing harder with his tongue, bearing down against Tetsuya as the other’s body eases and opens to the pressure. Tetsuya’s breathing faster, his thoughts racing almost as rapidly as the beat of his heart; and then Kasanoda is sliding into him, the soft drag of his tongue is working into Tetsuya’s body, and Tetsuya’s whole spine curves with the shudder of arousal that hits him.

It’s not that Kasanoda is inherently skilled. Tetsuya has no better comparison than the press of his own fingers on those nights he was particularly exploratory or especially desperate; but there’s no real pattern to Kasanoda’s movements, none of the deliberate seeking out of sensation that Tetsuya has taught himself via the immediate feedback offered by his own body. Kasanoda’s just moving, licking against the tension of Tetsuya’s entrance or thrusting wet into him without any apparent structure to his actions; and Tetsuya thinks he’s never been as hard in his entire life as he is right now, with Kasanoda’s hands spreading him apart and Kasanoda’s mouth against him and Kasanoda’s tongue pressing in as deep as the other can reach. There’s glancing friction inside him, the bump and drag of motion against sensitive nerve endings as Kasanoda licks into his body; and Tetsuya is panting, Tetsuya is shaking, Tetsuya’s whole body is drawing tense on rising possibility. He thinks he could come like this, just from the accidental pressure of Kasanoda’s tongue inside him and the overwhelming awareness of his own body that comes with it; but he doesn’t, he can’t, every forward press Kasanoda makes winds him tighter only for the strain to ease away from the precipice of satisfaction while the other shifts, while he draws back to gasp a ragged lungful of air or slides his fingers into a better grip on Tetsuya in front of him. Tetsuya relaxes, feels himself starting to come down from the desperate edge of want; and then Kasanoda pushes into him again, another slick, wet thrust driving into his body, and Tetsuya moans and quivers himself into anticipation all over again.

It’s maddening. Tetsuya thinks he would curse, if he could spare the breath for it; but he can’t, he can barely breathe at all for how hard his heart is pounding and how desperate his inhales have become. He’s rocking backwards into Kasanoda’s grip, straining for more, panting as his thoughts go dizzy and his vision starts to blur; and at his lips all he can find is heat, all he can give voice to is whimpering desperation as his body strains, as everything in him reaches for relief that slides through his grip no matter how he tries for it. His cock is swollen dark and heavy, he can feel the weight of it shifting with every motion of his hips and every flex of his thighs; his legs are shaking, trembling through helpless heat as his vision fades entirely out of importance, as he presses his forehead down against the sheets and gasps so hard for air he feels like he’s drowning for want of it. He can’t stand it, he can’t bear it, surely he’s going to break in a moment; and then Kasanoda’s tongue forces far into him, and Tetsuya groans, “ _Ritsu_ ” dragging up out of his throat without any intention on his part at all.

It’s a plea, it’s desperation; and Kasanoda answers as fast as Tetsuya gives it voice, pulling back and away as immediately as his fingers at Tetsuya’s skin ease. “Tetsuya?”

“Ritsu,” Tetsuya says again, only marginally more coherently. His breathing is still coming pantingly fast in his chest; he still feels like he might pass out if any more blood tries to fill his aching cock. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Kasanoda’s fingers tighten against him, his hands flexing for a moment of involuntary response. “ _Oh_ ,” he manages; and then “Are you sure?” with so much gruff concern that Tetsuya can’t even be frustrated at the absurdity of the question. “You don’t need more prep or anything?”

Tetsuya’s laugh cracks onto a sob in the back of his throat. “ _No_ ,” he says, and lifts his head so he can twist and look over his shoulder at Kasanoda. The other is still kneeling between Tetsuya’s spread-open knees, his forehead creased and gaze locked on the other’s face; but his mouth is red, his lips wet and swollen, and Tetsuya thinks he’s never seen anything so erotic in all his life.

“Please,” he says without blinking, without looking away, without making any attempt to hide the raw edge on his voice or the weight pulling hard on his lashes. “I _want_ you.”

It’s a simple statement, to carry so much weight; but Tetsuya’s voice does what the words alone can’t, and infuses it with all the latent heat running through him. Kasanoda’s lashes drop, his gaze flickering for a moment as that same rush of want visibly washes over his features; and then: “Yeah,” he says, and he’s sliding in closer without waiting for more, his knees fitting between Tetsuya’s as his hips press flush to the other’s. “Okay.” His cock is hot against Tetsuya’s skin, the weight of it fitting against the smooth dip of the other’s spine; Tetsuya has to make fists of the sheets under him to resist the urge to rock himself back onto that resistance, to keep from fucking himself onto Kasanoda’s cock before the other is ready. At least Kasanoda isn’t keeping him waiting; he’s lifting his slick hand from Tetsuya’s hip without hesitating, closing his grip around himself to stroke up and over the flushed heat of his length, and when he moves it’s only to rock his weight back over his heels, to pause with a hand at Tetsuya’s hip and his body behind the other’s so he can bring them into alignment. Tetsuya’s hips angle up, want too strong in him to care how obscene the motion must look to Kasanoda; and Kasanoda presses the head of his cock to Tetsuya’s entrance, and he’s thrusting home while Tetsuya’s body is still tensing against the expectation of the intrusion.

Tetsuya can feel everything in him go hot at once. His shoulders flex, his legs tense; his eyes are wide but he’s not seeing anything, his mouth is open on the soundless rush of air from his lungs. And over him, inside him, Kasanoda is sliding into him, heat and pressure and friction opening the strain of Tetsuya’s body to the slick breadth of his cock; and Tetsuya chokes on an inhale, his fingers twist onto fists, and he’s coming in a long, helpless wave of pleasure sweeping through the whole of his body from his curling toes up to the tingling heat at the very top of his head. He’s gasping, he’s moaning, he’s shuddering against the support of the bed under him and Kasanoda over him, and for a brief, endless span of time he’s nothing at all but a vessel for the heat rushing so entirely in every particle of his body.

Kasanoda has gone still, Tetsuya realizes as he comes back to himself; his hands are still bracing at Tetsuya’s waist, his cock is still pressing heat against the inside of Tetsuya’s body, but his motion has stopped, whatever rhythm he might have found for himself evaporated before it can exist in the face of Tetsuya’s pleasure. He’s breathing hard, Tetsuya can hear the drag of the other’s inhales coming rough over him; and when Tetsuya shudders through the last aftershock of pleasure Kasanoda groans an exhale over him, his voice giving way to disbelieving appreciation hot and audible in his throat.

“ _God_ ,” he offers as his hips tip forward to press deeper, as his fingers tighten against the other’s body. “ _Tetsuya_.”

Tetsuya lets his hold on the sheets under him go so he can angle his arm down against the bed and push himself up enough to look back over his shoulder. Kasanoda is staring at him wide-eyed, his lips parted and hair falling heavy around his face; his cheeks are flushed, his lips are red, his eyes are darker than Tetsuya has ever seen them. Tetsuya can feel the weight of that stare run through his whole body, as if having once satisfied the tension of physical pleasure his trembling muscles can now find the relief of emotional gratification, can savour the moment of Kasanoda staring at him like he’s never seen Tetsuya before.

“Ritsu,” Tetsuya says. His voice is lower than he intended it to be; it sounds flirtatious, seductive, like he’s adopting the raw heat of sex in his throat. He doesn’t try to smooth it back to his more ordinary range. “Keep going.”

Kasanoda opens his mouth to say something; but the words stay silent on his tongue, leave him to stare at Tetsuya for another span of time before he closes his mouth and shakes his head to come back into himself. “I want--” he starts, and then, with his cheeks flushing warm and his fingers digging into Tetsuya’s hips, “I want to _see_ you.”

It takes Tetsuya a moment to make sense of this. The whole of his body is laid bare for Kasanoda’s view; he can’t figure out, at first, what he can possibly offer that Kasanoda doesn’t already have. But then Kasanoda tips in, the tension in his shoulders curling in as he leans forward in pursuit of the other’s mouth, and Tetsuya realizes what it is the other is asking for just as Kasanoda ducks his head to kiss at Tetsuya’s shoulder since he can’t reach the other’s lips.

“Oh,” Tetsuya says, “okay,” and he’s moving as quickly as he gives agreement, rocking his weight forward over his arm to give himself the space to turn over. Kasanoda draws back as readily, obedient to the implication of Tetsuya’s movement if nothing else, and Tetsuya is left to fall heavily across the sheets under him, letting the soft of the mattress take his weight as he rolls over onto his back and away from the damp mess he’s made already. His tattoos are hidden by his position, the color of them pressed close against the support of the bed beneath his shoulders; but Kasanoda’s gaze drops down across the shift of Tetsuya’s breathing in his chest, and the weight of his half-hard cock lying across his stomach, and the sound he makes in the back of his throat makes his appreciation of the present view perfectly clear.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words rough and hasty in his throat, and he’s moving before Tetsuya can more than angle his knees open into an invitation, his weight tipping forward and down to pin Tetsuya back to the sheets. Kasanoda’s forehead touches Tetsuya’s, his breathing spills warm against the other’s lips, and he’s pressing in for a kiss even before he’s rocked his hips forward to fit between the open angle of Tetsuya’s thighs. The heat of his skin presses to Tetsuya’s, Tetsuya’s knees spread open as if of their own accord; and Kasanoda is rocking up and into him again, sliding into the heat of Tetsuya’s body in a single smooth stroke that pulls a groan from Kasanoda’s throat and a gasp from Tetsuya’s. Tetsuya lifts a hand to Kasanoda’s hair, his fingers seeking out traction for his awareness as Kasanoda’s cock pushes deep into his pleasure-sensitive body; and Kasanoda ducks his head to the pull, pressing his forehead against the angle of Tetsuya’s shoulder and breathing hard as he braces a hand against the bed under them and starts to move with a short, jerky rhythm that speaks more of instinct than intent. Tetsuya presses an arm against Kasanoda’s shoulders, turns his head in to breathe against the damp of the other’s hair, and when he shuts his eyes he can feel the heat in the air like it’s bleeding directly into his veins, stirring his body back to the beginnings of arousal again with each of those rough thrusts Kasanoda takes into him.

“Tetsuya,” Kasanoda says against his skin, “god, Tetsuya, you feel good” and the words might be simple but his tone is not, the resonance at the back of his throat is turning his speech over until he might as well be framing sonnets to the give of Tetsuya’s body, to the feel of the other’s surrender to him. Tetsuya is breathing harder, his exhales whimpering over his tongue with each of Kasanoda’s movements; his cock is rising to heat again, filling to hardness even while his legs are still shaking from the aftershocks of his first orgasm. Kasanoda’s body is pinning close against his own, Tetsuya’s length is dragging against the other’s stomach with each motion Kasanoda takes; Tetsuya quivers with each glancing friction, feeling heat rise and knot itself back into the depths of his stomach with a dizzy disbelief in the back of his head for the speed of his own recovery. He lets his hold on Kasanoda’s shoulders go, freeing his hand to reach down and fit his fingers between the heat of their bodies; his hand bumps against Kasanoda’s stomach, the contact draws a huff of sound from the other’s throat, and Kasanoda is shifting over him, ducking his head down to look at the space between them and the heat of Tetsuya’s length.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, sounding a little bit amused; but then he lifts his head, his gaze comes into focus on Tetsuya’s face, and whatever amusement was in his voice is made insignificant by the attention in the dark of his eyes, in the all-in focus in the way he’s looking at Tetsuya’s face like he’s actually waiting for an answer. Tetsuya huffs an exhale, blinking hard in an attempt to match the force of Kasanoda’s focus; and then he ducks his head to offer agreement even before he’s managed to fill his lungs with air enough for speech.

“Yes,” he says. “It feels good.”

Kasanoda’s lashes dip, his lips part. “Are you going to come again?”

Tetsuya’s blood goes hot, his breathing sticks. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Maybe.”

“Try,” Kasanoda says immediately. “I want to watch you come.”

Tetsuya would swear he can feel Kasanoda’s words run through the whole of his body like a deliberate wave of desire surging in him to sweep aside the uncertainty of his answer into the _yes_ he thinks it ought to be, now. “Okay,” he says, his voice as shaky as his hands as he curls his fingers in around himself and starts to stroke with careful, deliberate speed. Kasanoda ducks his head, his focus drawing close against the motion of Tetsuya’s hand, and Tetsuya’s face goes hot, his body caught between embarrassment and spiking pleasure at watching Kasanoda watch him jerk off. Kasanoda’s still moving over him, his cock still working in against Tetsuya’s body with each forward thrust; Tetsuya wonders distantly if Kasanoda can feel the shudders of sensation that run through him with each drag of his hand and each push of the other’s cock, if his own pleasure in the moment is being carried directly into the tensing satisfaction of pressure against Kasanoda inside him. The thought is heady, it dips Tetsuya’s lashes and catches his breathing; and then Kasanoda is shifting over him, spreading the fingers of his bracing hand wide at the sheets so he can free the other to reach down instead.

“Let me,” he says, his gaze still fixed on the flush of Tetsuya’s cock as he wraps his fingers against the shaft, his hold pushing Tetsuya’s aside even as he moves. Tetsuya jerks at the heat of Kasanoda’s touch, at the shape of an unfamiliar hold closing around him; but Kasanoda is moving without waiting for his response, jerking up over him with rough haste to match the drive of his hips. Tetsuya quivers against the bed, his spine arching up as if to press himself closer; and Kasanoda is breathing harder over him, his inhales taking on the raw edge of desperation as he keeps moving.

“Like this?” he says, the words only barely a question as his hips move faster, as his hand slides quicker. “Deeper? Harder?”

“Like that,” Tetsuya manages, feeling his heart racing in his chest like it’s trying to wear itself out at once, like his body is trying to hold itself together by making use of all the oxygen in the room. “Just keep going, I want you--” and his words stall as Kasanoda’s cock slips deeper, as the other’s thighs flex hard against his own. “ _Ah_. I want...I want you to come.”

Kasanoda huffs an exhale, the sound almost a laugh if it weren’t so helpless-hot. “Yeah,” he says, and then he lifts his chin and all Tetsuya can see in his eyes is dark, like the weight of a thundercloud bearing impossible electricity within it. “I’m going to.”

“Ritsu,” Tetsuya says, and Kasanoda’s thumb slides hard against him, and his focus disintegrates, his head tips back as his mouth falls open on heat. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, and he’s leaning in, Tetsuya thinks, the angle of his motion is shifting and his body is pressing closer over Tetsuya’s and Tetsuya’s heart is still racing, thundering in his chest like the presage for that storm behind Kasanoda’s eyes. “Tetsuya, look at me, I want to see you.”

“Ritsu,” Tetsuya gasps, the tone of a protest in his throat; but he’s looking down anyway, his hazy vision pinning itself to Kasanoda’s gaze on his as the only fixed point left for him to trust. Kasanoda’s mouth is open on his breathing, his forehead is creased on the intensity of his focus; his expression would be a scowl, almost, if he weren’t so absolutely radiant with desire and want and desperate attention. Tetsuya gasps an inhale, filling his lungs with all the air he can find; and then Kasanoda drives hard into him, and his whole body shudders with the advent of pleasure.

“ _Oh_ ,” he groans. “ _Ritsu_ ” and it’s a shout, a sob, a broken sound of too-much heat as every part of him seizes tight for the first tremor of satisfaction. His cock jerks in Kasanoda’s grip, spilling a bare handful of drops against his stomach; but the rest of him is tensing too, his fingers in Kasanoda’s hair and his thighs spread around Kasanoda’s hips and inside him, the inner heat of his body clenching to desperate, helpless convulsions around Kasanoda’s length. Kasanoda makes a noise, wordless and incoherent and _wanting_ ; and his hips jolt, his body surging forward as he comes against the grip of Tetsuya around him. There’s heat, wet, the damp of the rain and the spill of come and the sticky-salt of sweat; and Tetsuya clutches at Kasanoda’s hair, and Kasanoda clutches at Tetsuya’s sheets, and they hold themselves steady against the shuddering waves of pleasure that break and overwhelm them both.

They’re both still for long seconds after, with no sound between them but the tangle of their panting breathing. Tetsuya’s heart is still racing; he thinks Kasanoda could hear it if they were to hold their breath for a moment, wonders if the other can feel the thrum of it where their chests are pressed together where Kasanoda let himself collapse forward atop Tetsuya. But then Kasanoda’s pulse must be speeding, too, judging from the gasping edge to his breaths, and that makes Tetsuya smile with too much happiness in him to leave any space for considering even the hammering force of his own heartrate. He keeps his fingers in Kasanoda’s hair, and his hand at Kasanoda’s hip; and finally Kasanoda takes an inhale at his shoulder, and pushes himself up by an inch to take some of his own weight back again.

“Tetsuya” and his voice sounds like Tetsuya always imagined it would, hot and low and a little bit shaky with the lingering effect of pleasure. Tetsuya closes his eyes, just for a moment, to savour the satisfaction of that; and then opens them again, and turns his head so he can see the way Kasanoda is looking at him. Kasanoda’s cheeks are still flushed; his hair is sticking to his forehead, strands tangled around themselves and falling to frame his features. The crease of concern at his forehead is gone; there’s no strain anywhere in his expression, from the part of his lips to the soft focus behind his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tetsuya’s smile comes easy. “Yes,” he says, because it’s faster than offering a more lengthy explanation, easier to give words to than the sentiment that he’s never been happier in all his life, that he’s right where he’s wanted to be for all the years he told himself this was impossible. His body is aching, his skin is slick with sweat and heat and sex; and he feels like he’s glowing, like he’s one of Kasanoda’s flowers unfurling into bloom under the other’s touch.

The idea makes him laugh, a faint huff of sound past his lips; and Kasanoda’s mouth curves on an answering smile, happiness quick to rise to clarity even while confusion creases between his brows. “What is it?”

Tetsuya shakes his head, brushing aside Kasanoda’s question as his mouth settles into the smile he thinks he’ll wear all the time, now, as easily as the ink of the tattoos printed across his back and down his arms. “Nothing,” he says, and lifts his hand from Kasanoda’s hip to slide up into the weight of the other’s hair in an echo of the first, until he’s holding the weight of the crimson locks back from the lines of the other’s face. The light catches around the angle of his wrist, illuminating the weight of Kasanoda’s brow, the curve of his cheekbone, the set of his jaw; and Tetsuya’s breath rushes out of him at once, spilling free of his lips on a wave of appreciation too warm to be restrained.

“Oh, Ritsu,” he says, his voice dipping into the weight of sincerity without any attempt on his part to hold it back. “You are _so_ beautiful.” Kasanoda’s lashes dip, his expression softens into unfettered shock; and Tetsuya lifts his head, and pulls Kasanoda down, and presses away any possibility of protest from Kasanoda’s mouth with his own.

Kasanoda’s smile is sweet against his lips.


End file.
